


Toxicity

by KMDWriterGrl



Category: Criminal Minds, The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Multi, crossover fic, multi-part fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/KMDWriterGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who's poisoned CJ Cregg ... and why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-part series which crosses over with "Criminal Minds."

***

Danny walked into CJ’s office shortly after mid-day to find her gulping Aleve like they were candy.

“You having a rough day?”

CJ tossed her head back to swallow the pills and took a gulp from a bottle of water on her desk.

“You could say that.” She put a hand to her temple and rubbed. “I feel like I’m getting a migraine.”

“I didn’t know you got migraines.”

“Neither did I– until I got this job.”

Danny settled into a chair and gave her his most charming smile. “Feel like floating me a story--preferably something juicy with lots of scandal?”

“You can’t wait until I go to feed the rest of the buzzards? You’ve got to come in here and get a little fresh carrion?”

“Actually, I came in to see your beautiful face.”

“Charm will not get a story out of me, Daniel.”

“Oh, yeah? What will?”

“Fine wine. Chocolate. Dinner.” She winced and pressed her head back. “Oxycotin.”

Danny cocked his head and looked at her more closely. “How bad IS your headache, CJ?”

“Barely tolerable.”

Danny studied her. “You look a little pale.”

“That’s great.” She blew out a controlled breath. “Nothing like going up in front of a room full of reporters and TVs around the entire nation knowing I look like a ghost.”

“You don’t look like a ghost,” Danny replied patiently. “The only reason I noticed is that I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at you. 

“You’ve got to find something else to do with your time.” She pulled open her desk drawer, rummaged inside, then picked up the phone and dialed. “Carol? Do you have any of that stuff you give Ginger when she gets heartburn?”

A moment later, Carol was at the door and tossing a packet of Pepto-Bismol pills to CJ. “Shouldn’t have ordered from that deli, huh?”

“Guess not.” CJ cracked open two of the foil packets, dry swallowed them, grimaced, slugged back some water, and tossed the package back to Carol. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” Carol grinned cheekily at her boss. “But that’s probably because I had a salad instead of those monster club sandwiches you, Sam, and Toby got.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” CJ sipped at her water. “If you see either of them in the hallway, Carol, DON’T give them any of that.”

Carol laughed and shut the door.

“Which deli was that? I’ll make sure I don’t order from them.”

“Carol’s in charge of food. I’ve got more important stuff filling my brain.” She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be in to brief you guys in about half an hour, okay?”

“Yeah.” Danny watched her come around the desk, sink onto her sofa, and drop her head into her hands, such a wholly un-CJ posture that it gave him pause. “Look, why don’t I tell Carol to hold your calls for twenty of those minutes so you can lie down?”

He was incredibly surprised when CJ didn’t object but instead curled up on the couch. He went to the closet, took out the pillow he knew she kept there, and slipped it under her head, then knelt at her side to study her face.

“Thanks, Danny,” she murmured, giving him a small smile. “I’ll remember this next time you want a story.”

“Don’t think I won’t collect. Here.” He moved the wastebasket from under the shredder and set it within easy reach. “Just in case.” He touched her forehead with the back of his hand, surprised at how warm she felt to his touch. “I’ll tell Carol to bar the gates till it’s time for the briefing.”

He flicked off the lights and shut the door behind him, then walked back down the hall, glancing behind him at CJ’s closed door.

***

She looked rocky at the briefing, and he fervently hoped he was the only one who knew CJ well enough to notice. She’d made an effort to add some color to her cheeks, but under the hot lights she looked pale.

The telltale sign that something was wrong was that she was gripping the podium as if it was the only thing holding her up. CJ NEVER held the podium unless she had to– she constantly talked with her hands, using them to emphasize, minimize, make a point, or pick reporters. Today her hands were still and she was gripping the podium hard enough to make her knuckles turn white.

He must not have been the only one who noticed, since a few people were leaning over and making side remarks to each other, or jotting notes back and forth. No one actually asked her if anything was wrong–she’d only say no and move on– but he could tell everyone in the room was more focused on CJ than they were on the new figures from HUD.

Danny got caught in the usual post-briefing crush near the cameras as everyone tried to get out to the hall or into the press room. By the time he had wrangled his way out, she was on her way to a meeting in the Oval Office. Frowning slightly, he headed back into the press room to type up his notes, still worried about CJ.

***

President Bartlett was alone in the Oval Office, though the door between his office and Leo’s was open. The President was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a thick book on the Hemings family of Monticello and he smiled when CJ came in.

“Claudia Jean, my favorite press secretary, you’re--” He took a good look at her, then took off his glasses and looked again. “– looking like you’re coming down with something. If you feel like you look, I don’t see why in the hell you’re still here.”

“I’m fine, sir, thank you,” CJ replied, sitting very carefully on the edge of the armchair near the President. “I think I may have eaten something that doesn’t agree with me.”

“Why don’t I ask Debbie to find something in that enormous pharmacopeia she carries around in her purse? She probably has a few ampules of anti-venom stuffed into that bag.”

CJ smiled, though it was meager. “Carol all ready gave me something, thank you, sir. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just get some air.” She stood up and wavered dangerously. Bartlett rose to steady her.

“I’ll walk you there.”

The Marine guard had just opened the door for the two of them when CJ gave a strangled cough, jerked away from the startled President, rushed to the edge of the walkway and vomited into the bushes.

“Oh my.” The President hurried back into the Oval Office, poured water into a tumbler, and carried it out to CJ, who was kneeling on the edge of the walkway, hands on her knees. “Here, CJ, drink this.” He knelt beside her and laid a gentle hand on her back. “Rinse your mouth then sip slowly.”

“Oh, God.” CJ’s voice was muffled but he could tell she was utterly mortified. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t–“

“CJ,” he scolded mildly. “I’m a husband, a father and a grandfather– you think I haven’t seen a woman toss her cookies before?” He patted her back gently. “You stay right there till you’re feeling better. I’m going to get you a coat.”

Toby appeared at the office door just as Bartlett re-entered the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”

“Hello, Toby.” He handed his own dark overcoat to the Communications director. “Take this out to CJ, will you? She’s sitting outside and not feeling well. I’m going to get her something from Debbie Fiderer’s Walk-Through Pharmacy.”

Toby hurried out onto the landing past the Marine guard and found CJ, a crystal tumbler of water in her shaking hands.

“CJ? You okay?”

CJ turned red-rimmed eyes on him. He was shocked at how pale and sick she looked. “God, Toby, I’m so embarrassed.”

“What happened?” He draped the overcoat over her shoulders. “You’re going to freeze. Come on.” He helped her to her feet and walked her over to the bench a few feet away. “The President said you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m not. And now you can add the fact that I’m going to die of mortification because I just threw up in front of the leader of the free world. 

Toby gave her a squeeze around the shoulders. “CJ, the President has seen you _drunk_ before. This doesn’t even compare to the party when you had too much champagne and sang karaoke to “What a Man, What a Man, What a Mighty Good Man.”

CJ gave a watery laugh. “When you put it that way–“

“Small potatoes,” Toby said reassuringly.

“Oh God, don’t mention food,” CJ warned, blanching. “I feel really sick.”

“Must have been the deli, huh?”

“Yeah, but you and Sam and I all ate the same thing.”

“I have a cast iron stomach.”

The President walked back out onto the landing with another glass of water, this one fizzing with Alka-Seltzer.

“Debbie promises that this will put you to rights.” The President looked dubiously at the glass then handed it to CJ and watched her sip slowly. “You know, we should start holding meetings out here. This wind is bracing.”

CJ smiled a little at the President’s obvious enthusiasm then had to shut her eyes, tip her head forward, and breathe deeply to counter another violent wave of nausea and dizziness.

Toby and Bartlett exchanged concerned looks.

“CJ, honey, let me call Abby,” the President urged. “She can be down here from the residence in a minute and a half.”

“Unless she can do something about food poisoning there isn’t much point.” CJ bit her lip hard and brought a hand to her abdomen.

Toby’s eyes followed her hand. “You had your appendix out, CJ?”

“Not that I can recall,” she breathed. “Do you think that’s what this is?”

“I’m not a doctor.” He glanced up at the President. “He, however, is married to one.”

“I’m going to call Abby,” the President decided. “She can come down and have a look at you.” He disappeared inside to make the phone call, leaving Toby alone with CJ who was hunched over in pain, her breathing ragged.

“Let’s try to get you inside.” Toby glanced at the guard. “If she can’t walk, can you help me carry her?”

The guard nodded, allowing his reserve to slip just enough to show his concern.

Toby got to his feet first then helped CJ, steadying her with strong hands on her upper arms.

“You okay?”

“Dizzy.” It took her a moment to get her feet under her, even with Toby’s support. Once she was standing, her face paled even further. She staggered to the edge of the sidewalk and retched into the bushes again.

Toby caught her around the waist and held tightly when she sagged against him. “I’ve got you.” He clumsily brushed her hair back from her face. “Hold on.”

Abby and Leo rushed out onto the landing, the President in tow. Abby took one look and fell into medical mode.

“Let’s get her inside, lying down.”

Toby and the Marine guard moved CJ just over the threshold and onto the carpeted floor. Leo caught the President’s overcoat as it fell from CJ’s shoulders and folded it underneath her head. Abby went to her knees beside CJ; Toby knelt on the other side; Leo and the President stayed a respectful distance back.

“CJ, Jed tells me you’ve been vomiting and experiencing abdominal pain.”

CJ nodded, her face paper-white. “It feels like something’s burning a hole through my stomach.”

“Show me where.” Abby laid her hands on the area of her torso that CJ indicated. “I’m going to palpate your stomach. Tell me if it hurts.”

CJ winced, nodded.

“How about here?” Abby moved her hands higher and pressed down again. “Does that hurt?”

“Oh yeah,” CJ breathed, flinching.

Abby frowned and repeated the procedure until she’d moved a full circle over CJ’s midsection. “How do you feel other than nauseated? You said your stomach feels like it’s burning.”

CJ described a host of other symptoms—extreme headache, dizziness, blurred vision—that had Abby frowning even more deeply. She pulled a pocket flashlight out of her bag and examined CJ’s pupils.

“This isn’t appendicitis. The pain isn’t low enough or intense enough to be a ruptured appendix.”

“What is it then?” Toby asked.

“I don’t know. It could be food poisoning but dizziness, headache, and nystagmus don’t usually accompany that and the symptoms certainly don’t come on so quickly.” She glanced up at Leo. “Call the White House medics and get them to move her to GW in the ambulance.” She laid her fingers on CJ’s neck and took her pulse. “Toby, when was her last briefing?”

“About twenty minutes ago. Why?”

“Is Danny Concannon still here?”

“Probably.”

“Go get him.”

Toby had barely started to rise from his spot on the floor when CJ’s body jerked and she began to convulse. Toby lunged for her but was stopped by the president who grabbed his arm and barked, “Don’t touch her.”

Abby quickly rolled CJ onto her left side and checked her airway. “Leo, get the medics here right now! Jed, send Charlie after Danny, okay?” She darted a glance up at Toby. “Move that coat under her head and then shut the doors. No one else needs to see this.”

Toby did as the First Lady asked and then returned to his spot by CJ’s side. The convulsions had stopped, leaving her shaking and disoriented. Abby spoke to her in a soft, reassuring voice then gave him a meaningful look to get him to add his own two cents while she checked CJ’s vital signs.  

He was still talking to a mostly unresponsive CJ when Danny arrived in the room, mere seconds ahead of the tell-tale clatter of the gurney and the reassuring khaki uniforms of the White House medical technicians. Danny started to dart forward to touch CJ but Toby caught at his arm. “Hold on, let them get to her first.”

“What happened?” Danny demanded. “She looked sick at the briefing. Is she okay?”

“She’s been throwing up and she just had a seizure.”

“Jesus Christ, aren’t those signs of a stroke?”

“I don’t know.” Toby wanted to be able to reassure the reporter but found he couldn’t even reassure himself. He tuned in to the conversation between the technicians and the First Lady in time to hear “tox panel” from Abby. “Ma’am, that’s going to sound like--”

“I know what it will sound like but she needs to be checked for a drug reaction, Toby. She’s got all the symptoms of a severe one.” She bent down to CJ and smoothed a cool hand over her friend’s cheek. “CJ? Can you focus on me for a second? Are you taking anything OTC or prescription that we should know about?”

“Just Aleve,” CJ murmured. She reached out, looking for a hand to grasp, and Danny took it, twining his fingers with hers. “Hi, Danny.”

“How many Aleve did you take, Claudia?” Abby asked.

“I took three about an hour ago.”

Abby frowned then nodded at the medical techs. “Get her to GW. Make sure they run a tox panel and report that she had a petit mal seizure lasting a minute and a half.” She looked fretfully at her watch. “Jed, I don’t suppose we could cancel the thing I’m supposed to do this afternoon in light of the circumstances?”

CJ grabbed at Abby’s wrist. “Don’t cancel,” she breathed. “Seriously. I’m okay.”

“I’ll check in with you,” Danny said, his hand firmly in CJ’s. “There’s no way I’m leaving her.”

***

The ride to GW was interminable. CJ faded in and out of consciousness the entire way. When she was awake she kept a hard grip on Danny’s hand and her eyes stayed locked on his face, tears he was sure she had no idea she was shedding coursing down her cheeks. Danny whispered calming words, returning a reassuring squeeze every time her hand tightened on his.

Once at the hospital, the attendants worked fast to get CJ into an exam room. Danny wouldn’t allow himself to be shooed off and stayed stubbornly by her side until the emergency room nurses finally gave in to the inevitability of his presence. They bustled around him to draw blood for a toxicology panel and run all of the usual ER related tests. They finally forced him into the waiting room when they whisked her away for an ultrasound to check her appendix and a CAT scan to check her brain post-seizure.

A tense and unhappy Toby was pacing in the waiting room and Danny fell in step beside him. Neither spoke—they just paced, waiting for the moment when someone would arrive to give them a report on CJ’s condition.

An hour later, a doctor came out to meet them, a deep frown marring his face. “You’re here with CJ Cregg?”

“That’s right,” Toby said, rising to his feet quickly. “How is she?”

“Well, we’ve run a toxicology panel and we got some most unusual results. Tell me, has Ms. Cregg been depressed?”

“Depressed?” Danny and Toby exchanged baffled looks. “Not CJ. Busy and stressed out, yeah, but not depressed.”

“The reason I ask is because she has abnormally large amounts of ethylene glycol in her system.”

“What is that?” Toby prompted.

“A sweet-tasting, colorless, odorless liquid typically found in anti-freeze and other household products. Small children and animals tend to ingest it by accident but when we see it present in adults, 8 times out of 10 it’s been taken as an attempt at suicide.”

Toby dropped his voice, absolutely livid. “Are you out of your mind? You’re suggesting that the President’s Press Secretary tried to commit suicide? You’d better hope not a single member of your treatment team heard you speculate on that!”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “No, I didn’t say that to anyone else. It’s just a possibility we have to consider. When women try to kill themselves it’s usually in a more passive manner like poisoning--”

“CJ would NEVER try to kill herself,” Danny insisted, his hands balling into fists.

“If it’s not a suicide attempt--” the doctor began.

“It’s NOT,” Toby snapped fiercely.

“–then I’m going to have to conclude that Ms. Cregg has been intentionally poisoned. Do you have any idea when she might have ingested this chemical or how? It’s important to get a time-line so we can see whether a nasogastric aspiration is still feasible.”

“What’s that?” Danny asked.

“Suctioning out the contents of her stomach using a tube through the nose and throat.”

Both men winced.

“It must have been during lunch,” Toby mused. “She had a diet soda. If this stuff is a sweet tasting liquid, it could have been masked by the soda syrup.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About two hours ago now,” Toby replied.

“Then there’s still unmetabolized glycol still in her stomach. We’ll go ahead and purge her system and administer Fomepizole as an antidote. We’ll run a course of hemodialysis after all of that to make sure her blood is free of any chemicals.”

“Can we be with her during this?” Danny asked.

“Trust me, sir, you do NOT want to see an aspiration. We’ll let you know when we’ve finished it and she’s on her way to intensive care.”

He turned and headed back into the ER, leaving Toby and Danny frustrated and puzzled.

***

“You’re kidding!” Abby practically shouted into the phone. Jed, busy combing his hair, stuck his head out of the bathroom to see her. “Ethylene glycol poisoning?”

Jed stepped fully out into the bedroom to stare at his wife.

“Poison? Someone poisoned my press secretary? What the hell kind of–“

Abby waved him quiet and pressed the phone harder to her ear.

“Did they perform an aspiration? ... They did. Okay. And I assume they’re running a course of Fomepizole into her system? ... Have they let you in to see her yet? ... Okay. Look, once this damn thing is over, we’ll be on our way to GW ... Yes, we will. I don’t want to hear another word about it... We’ll call you ... Okay ... No, don’t worry, Sam’s got it under control ... All right ... Love to CJ ... Bye.”

The minute she hung up the phone, her husband advanced on her.

“What’s this about poison?”

“CJ’s got massive amounts of a substance called ethylene glycol in her system. It’s one of those household products public health centers are always warning parents to lock away or put on high shelves since kids tend to get into it. It has a sweet taste to it, which is probably why she wouldn’t have noticed it if someone slipped it into her drink.” Abby looked thoughtful. “If it was in her drink, we might be able to figure out where she got it from.” She picked up the phone on the bedside table.

“Donna, it’s Mrs. Bartlett ... Sam’s supposed to be in with Josh. Can you get him for me, please?”

Abby covered the receiver with her hand and turned to her husband. “Any reason why someone might want CJ incapacitated at this particular moment?”

Jed furrowed his brow in thought. “Leo would have a better handle on that than I would. Let me call him up.” He crossed to the phone on his bureau and placed a call down to Leo.

“Sam? It’s Abby Bartlett. Listen, I know you and Toby and CJ were meeting today with some of my staffers about publicizing this upcoming goodwill tour in Africa ... No, I don’t need details yet. All I really want to know is whether you all did a lunch meeting, and if you did, where did you order from?”

***

Toby hung up with Abby Bartlett and crossed back to Danny, who was pacing with a cup of coffee.

“Mrs. Bartlett decided to play CSI. She had someone go into the trash cans to see if the cup CJ was drinking out of was still there. Someone’s going to run it up here and have the lab test it for ethylene glycol.”

“Maybe it’s not the soda. Maybe it was the Aleve.”

Toby snorted. “What, product tampering? Like the Tylenol Killer? Danny, that’s an urban myth.”

“So you’d rather believe that someone intentionally put a caustic chemical in CJ’s drink to incapacitate her? Sorry, man, but I’ll take product tampering over that any day of the week.”

Toby blew out a breath. “This is _fucked up_ , Danny. And I mean that on a level that I can’t even … guns I expect… but someone had to get close to her for this. Someone had to either pay off the counterperson at that deli, which means they knew where we would order lunch from, which means it had to be someone in our office because, hell, _I_ don’t even know where we order lunch from … or someone had to physically put that stuff in her drink before it came back to us and that means it’s someone IN THE WHITE HOUSE. And that isn’t just fucked up—that’s fucking _terrifying_!” He peered at Danny with eyes that were more than a little wild. “Do you think it’s about her? Do you think this is about something she said or did?”

Danny took a deep breath. He had a sense of where that particular line of inquiry was going and wasn’t sure how to handle it. “I don’t know, Toby. I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Toby began pacing. “She said once she’s the face and voice of the White House… and she’s right. If this is some form of retaliation… then it’s my fault because I brought her on the campaign. I pushed her to be what she is. If she’s here because of something that was said or done then she’s here because I put her here.”

Danny stood up and stepped into the other man’s path. “Toby. No. If someone put that chemical in her drink because of something they’re unhappy about, it is _on them_ , not you.”

Toby shook his head. “I wish I could believe that.”

It was another tense 45 minutes before a nurse came out to usher the two men into CJ’s room.

“We gave her a light sedative after the aspiration.” She noted CJ’s vitals on the dry erase board mounted on the wall. “If she’s feeling nauseated when she wakes up, let one of us know and we’ll give her some more Phenergan. Don’t let her drink water too soon or too fast– the liquid will shock her stomach. Give her some ice chips to chew on instead.”

The nurse left. Toby followed almost immediately to pick up a call from the White House, leaving Danny with CJ.

He watched her as she slept, his eyes roaming her face, wishing he could smooth away the pain lines creased into her forehead and around her mouth.

His phone shook on his hip. His editor.

“Danny, I needed that story an hour ago. I know you like to fine tune but this is getting ridiculous.”

_Fuck_ , Danny mentally cursed. Well, he should have one or two “get out of jail free” cards with Hastings. Now would be a good time to try them out.

“John, I’m at the hospital with a friend. She got a bad case of food poisoning and needed to be rushed in. Can you get Sanders to cover it? I can send him all my notes from my Blackberry.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be CJ Cregg, would it?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Press Room gossip. Word is she wasn’t looking too hot at the briefing today. And there was a call to White House medics half an hour afterward. What’s going on?”

“Nothing I’m prepared to disclose.”

“So it IS CJ Cregg.”

“I’m not saying that." 

“But you’re not NOT saying that either.” Hastings sounded amused. “Send what you’ve got to Sanders. Let me know when your ‘friend’ is starting to feel better.”

Danny spent a few minutes sending his notes to Mike Sanders via his Blackberry. As he was finishing up, CJ groaned softly. He was by her side in a moment, hands wrapped around hers.

“CJ?”

Without opening her eyes, she murmured, “Danny?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.” He gently stroked her hair back from her forehead. “How are you?”

“I feel sick.”

“Your nurse said that might happen. You need a trash can?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me call someone. They can give you a shot.” He hit the call button beside her bed. “You know where you are?”

“GW.” She tried to open her eyes and squinted against the light. “Mmm. Too bright.”

Danny hurried to close the curtains until the room was dimmer. “Better?”

“Thanks.” She opened her eyes all the way and blinked to focus. “What time is it? How long have I been here?”

“It’s five-thirty. You’ve been here just about three and a half hours. Do you remember what happened?”

“They pumped my stomach.” Her hand rose to her throat, massaged it. “But they didn’t tell me why.”

A nurse came in with a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. “Feeling a little nauseous, CJ?”

“A lot nauseous.” CJ swallowed and grimaced. “Can I have some water?”

“Ice chips. Your other gentleman friend went to get you some a few minutes ago.” The nurse swabbed the crook of CJ’s elbow just under the IV line. “This should help with the nausea. Here we go, just a little prick.” Blanching, CJ turned away from the needle and looked into Danny’s familiar blue eyes instead.

“Toby’s still here?”

“Where else do you think I’d be?” Toby strode back into the room, carrying a paper cup of ice.

“You think I’m going to leave you here with only Danny for company?” He handed her the cup, steadying her hand. “Chew on these.”

The nurse nodded approvingly. “I’ll be back in a bit to check that drip. Once you’re through with the Fomepizole, you’ll get a course of hemodialysis.”

CJ looked startled. “Hemodialysis?”

The nurse nodded. “It’s a common treatment for the kind of poison you’ve been exposed to. It helps clear your blood of any remaining toxins.”

CJ looked from Toby to Danny to the nurse. “Poison? What is she talking about?”

The nurse looked from one man to the other. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“Tell me what?” CJ demanded, struggling to sit up straight and look commanding. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

“You were dosed with ethylene glycol,” Toby said softly. “It’s a household product found in antifreeze. Someone slipped it into your drink at lunch. That’s what caused you to get so sick.”

CJ’s hand flew to her mouth. “You cannot be serious,” she said faintly.

Danny nodded. “Mrs. Bartlett did a little snooping and found the cup you were drinking from. It’s being tested for traces of the liquid to see if it was all ready in your drink when it came from the deli.”

CJ’s eyes widened and she bolted upright, nearly tearing out the IV in her hurry. “Sam had a drink, too! Is he okay?” Her eyes went to Toby. “Are you?”

“We’re both fine,” Toby soothed, reaching to pat her shoulder. “Just relax.”

“Thank God. Okay.” CJ swallowed hard, leaned back on her pillows and shut her eyes. “I shouldn’t have moved that fast.”

Danny took her hand and played his thumb across the pulse point at her wrist. “Toby’s right--you need to take it easy.”

Eyes still closed, CJ picked up the conversation again. “Please tell me I hallucinated throwing up in front of the President.”

Toby chuckled softly. “He was really nice about it.”

A blush flamed over CJ’s cheeks, drastically countering how pale her skin had become. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.” She turned her head toward the sound of Toby’s voice. “I threw up in front of you, too, didn’t I?”

“I was really nice about it, too. Held your hair back and everything.” His cavalier answer was softened by the way he reached out to smooth her hair away from her face.

CJ laughed softly. “Ever the gentleman, Toby. Thanks.” She felt for the cup of ice and lifted it with shaking hands. “Please tell me this hasn’t leaked yet. This is going to make Bush choking on a pretzel look like--”

“No leaks,” Danny and Toby said in unison. “Although, my editor is definitely aware that something’s wrong,” Danny continued, looking at Toby. “He knows I’m at the hospital with a friend but he’s only taking a shot in the dark that my friend is the White House Press Secretary.”

Toby muttered something under his breath that Danny couldn’t quite catch and said, “CJ, the press should be the least of your worries right now.”

“I can’t _not_ worry about the press. It’s like a reflex.”

“Yeah, well, fight that, okay? Concentrate on more important things.”

“Like?”

“Like the fact that we’re going to have to add an official White House taste tester to our staff.” Toby blew out a long breath. “Sorry. That sounded wittier in my head.”

“Most things out of your mouth do.” She gave Toby a half smile. “You know, Carol could do the briefings.”

“She could—if she didn’t curl up in a ball and die of utter humiliation when the press had eaten her for breakfast.”

“Okay, Sam could do them. He’s well-spoken, personable, cute on camera.”

“Yes, he could certainly do them … I’d hear about it for the next hundred years but he could indeed do the briefings.”

“Don’t you DARE let Josh–“

“I know. Believe me. I still have people asking me about the secret plan to fight inflation.” He rolled his eyes when his cell phone vibrated on his hip. “Be right back.”

Danny shifted position in his chair and readjusted his hold on CJ’s hand. “Just another fun-filled day in the White House,” he joked.

“It’s all fun and games until someone ends up in the hospital.” She smiled wanly at him. “You know, this is not what the hospital is like on “House.”

Danny laughed. “Are there not enough hot male nurses for you?”

CJ managed a grin at him. “I’ve got my own hot male nurse.” She quickly sobered. “How bad is this, Danny? I feel quivery on the inside, like someone grabbed my body and shook it until all of my internal organs rattled.”

Danny raised an eyebrow and tried not to show how much her description rattled HIM. “You’re going to be fine. Yeah, it’s going to take a few days for you to start feeling normal again, but your doctor said you’re going to make a full recovery with no lasting damage.”

“Is lasting damage a possibility?” She gave him a stern look. “Be straight with me. I trust you to do that.”

Danny finally nodded. “Yeah, it’s a possibility. Ethylene glycol in large enough doses can cause physiological and neurological damage. But that’s not likely to happen with you because we got you to the hospital so soon after you were dosed. You’re feeling shaky because your body reacted so violently to the toxin. Ultimately the vomiting, the seizure … that was a good thing.”

CJ’s eyelids were starting to flutter and Danny could see she was struggling to stay awake. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Can you ask Carol to go to my place to get some of my things?”

“I’ll call her. Or I can stop by myself, go through all your private things, see what you’ve written about me in your diary.” He gave her a mischievous smile and was glad when she laughed a little.

“I’m changing the locks after I get out of here.” She raised a hand and touched the side of his cheek fondly. “You know you don’t have to stay, Danny. And tell Toby that, too.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied. “If you’re here, I’m here.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When she shut her eyes, he rose and headed into the hallway to find Toby who was pacing and scowling. "She okay?" he asked.

"She’s trying to fall asleep. What’s up?"

"Josh just called. They got the tox back on the soda cup. Massive amounts of ethylene glycol … enough to drop a race horse. Someone’s trying to kill CJ.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The senior staff starts their own investigation into the poisoning as CJ undergoes treatment with Danny at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The descriptions of ethylene glycol poisoning, its treatment, and its physiological and neurological side effects on the body were gleaned from my own research. Any mistakes that have been made as far as medical jargon goes were unintentional on my part. The descriptions of dialysis and its side effects came largely from first-hand accounts of the dialysis process from a friend who has undergone it 3-5 times a week for early onset renal failure. Any mistakes in the descriptions of this process and/or its side effects are entirely my own.

The senior staff gathered in the conference room with piles of documents from CJ’s office, trying to find a rhyme or a reason for the attack on the well-loved press secretary.

 

“Okay,” Josh said, holding up the log-sheet that Carol kept on her desk. “Everything that came to CJ in the last three days via interoffice mail is here. There’s another pile of mail from the USPS that the Secret Service is screening now—we don’t get to see it until they do. We need to make sure everything that’s on this list actually is what it says it is. There might be a death threat or something in here that we missed that might explain this. ”

 

Leo glanced at Donna, who looked as though she wanted to cry. “You wanna keep track of all this?”

 

Donna bit her lip, nodded, and took the log-sheet from Josh. “How is CJ?”

 

“Sick.” Toby came in to the room, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He looked tense and unhappy. “She was awake for a little bit.” He looked at Sam. “Worried you might have gotten poisoned, too.”

 

“CJ needs to stop being a mother hen,” Sam responded. “How’d she look?”

 

“Like hell,” Toby replied frankly. “She couldn’t hold a cup of ice without her hands shaking.”

 

Donna looked even closer to tears. “I was reading up on ethylene glycol poisoning and it said that it can cause internal and neurological damage, especially ...”

 

“Donna.” Josh cut her off. “This is why I am so hesitant to have you anywhere near a computer.”

 

“Josh, she was _poisoned_! By someone in this office!”

 

 

“We don’t know that it was an inside job yet,” Leo pointed out patiently. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. All we have so far is a very sick Press Secretary and a cup of caustic chemicals.” He stopped. “Which is a lot, admittedly, but still …”

 

“Leo, don’t we need to call the FBI or something--” Donna fretted.

 

“The FBI has been called. A team is on its way over from Quantico.” Leo exhibited a rare display of empathy and laid a comforting hand on the overwrought assistant’s shoulder. “Donna, I’m just as tempted as you are to want to put everything on lockdown, investigate every square millimeter of the building, and shake everyone who works here until we know who hurt CJ but it’s much smarter that we don’t. So let’s try to keep our heads, please.”

 

Leo picked up a packet of notes and memoranda and began to flip through it. “This is from HUD, regarding the clean up in New Jersey after Superstorm Sandy. You got it, Donna?”

 

Donna nodded and made a check mark on the log sheet. “1 down, 200 to go.” She turned to Sam. “What have you got?”

 

***

When CJ woke up again, it took her a moment or two to remember where she was. The pull of the IV needle in the crook of her arm reminded her forcefully.

 

She’d been moved while she was asleep. The room she was in now was much cheerier– and bigger-- than any hospital room had a right to be. There were flowers on the table near her bed (which was covered in sheets that felt unmistakably like Egyptian cotton) and several more arrangements on the windowsill. There were oil paintings on the walls that she recognized as belonging to a collection from the National Gallery, a flat panel TV with an attached DVR, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, there was an enormous shower visible through the open bathroom door.

 

It wasn’t until Carol walked into the room, toting CJ’s go-bag and a vase of tulips, that she caught a glimpse of the Secret Service agent outside and realized that she was in one of the suites reserved for the First Family on the security floor.

 

Carol was gamely trying to cover the shock that she felt on seeing her boss but wasn’t succeeding very well. CJ wondered just how bad she really looked.

 

“There’d better be vodka in that bag,” CJ said drily, trying to get Carol to laugh. “I could use a stiff drink.” When Carol only managed a wavery half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes, CJ found herself feeling profoundly grateful that there wasn’t a mirror anywhere nearby.

 

“Danny called,” Carol explained, setting the bag down on the end of the bed. “He said you needed a few things.” She held up the tulips. “These are from all of us. Donna wanted to come see you, too, but she’s closeted up with Leo and the guys, examining every paper to come through your office in the last three days.”

 

“My papers? What are they looking for?” CJ scrabbled for the remote to raise the head of the bed and had to bite back a wave of frustrated tears when her hand shook so violently that she couldn’t even operate the buttons.

 

“Toby didn’t tell you? Here, CJ, let me.” Carol hit the remote and then put it back within CJ’s reach. She looked as though she, too, were fighting back tears.

 

“Tell me what? What did you guys find?”

 

“It’s—” Carol hesitated. “It’s not really my place to say. I don’t know all the details,” she hastened to add.

 

“Can you give me some idea what’s going on? Something must be since I’m up here.”

 

“Actually, Claudia Jean, you’re up here because we wanted to come visit you.” Jed Bartlett’s voice rang from the doorway and CJ was amused to see Carol come to practically military attention.

 

CJ’s eyes automatically went to her wrist and had a moment of disorientation at seeing a hospital bracelet there instead of her Seiko watch. “Is the event over all ready? Sir, please tell me you didn’t leave early!”

 

The President looked over his shoulder at his wife, who was talking quietly to the agent in the hallway. “See, dear, I told you that the quickest way to help CJ recover was to make a major social faux pas. Should we really make her day and tell her about the frat party we hit on the way over with Charlie?”

 

Abby Bartlett elbowed her husband playfully out of the way and walked up to CJ’s bedside. “We pleaded a surprise visit from Zoe and left after an appropriate amount of time,” she said. Unable to turn off her internal physician anymore than CJ could turn off her inner press secretary, Abby took CJ’s pulse then took a look at the numbers posted on the wall charts. “How are you feeling?”

 

CJ took a moment to gauge before answering. “Woozy.” At Abby’s nod, she continued. “Hollowed out.” She held up her hand to let Abby see how badly it was shaking. “Shaky kind of goes without saying.”

 

Abby looked more than a little concerned. “I’m going to see your doctor. I want to know how much ethylene glycol you were given and what additional countermeasures they’re taking to counteract potential neurological damage.” She spun on her heel and headed into the hallway. Carol scurried out after her, leaving CJ alone with the President.

 

“Sir, I am so--” CJ began.

 

“Claudia Jean, if you apologize one more time, I will shove a gag in that mouth of yours.” He reached forward and touched her hand. “You scared the ever living hell out of me, but there’s no need to apologize for it. You didn’t poison yourself.” Bartlett shook his head sadly. “If this is a reaction to something I did or said … I’d never have had this happen to you, CJ. I’m the one who needs to be apologizing.”

 

 

 

A knock on the door cut the conversation short. A doctor walked in, Abby Bartlett hot on his heels. The doctor nodded formally to the President and then turned to CJ. “I’m Dr. Walker, Ms. Cregg. I’ve been treating you since you arrived. Dr. Bartlett tells me you’re still feeling ill.”

 

CJ held out a visibly shaking hand. The doctor nodded sympathetically.

 

“Weakness and shaking aren’t uncommon in poisonings, especially so soon after the initial exposure to the toxin. Ethylene glycol poisoning is very serious, potentially fatal, and it acts on the body in a number of ways, depending on the patient’s CNS, general health, and the amount of time between ingestion and treatment. Fortunately, your symptoms started relatively soon after ingestion. You were brought in during stage 1 of the poisoning process. If you’d progressed to stage two, there would have been far more dangerous symptoms and potentially long-lasting side effects.”

 

Noticing that her friend’s eyes were starting to well with frightened tears, Abby crossed to CJ and put a hand on her shoulder.

 

“How long is this going to last?” CJ asked, her voice a whisper.

 

“It’s hard to say. You were given an extremely large dose of this toxin. Dizziness, nausea, shaking, weakness, and blurred vision could last anywhere from another 12 hours to another 24.” He looked at her sympathetically, seeming to have realized that he had frightened her. “I realize you’re feeling very sick right now but you’re honestly quite lucky that the symptoms aren’t any worse.”

 

He jotted down a few notes on his Blackberry. “You’re still getting Fomepizole via IV and that will continue for a number of hours. Since you’re awake and aware, I’ll go ahead and send you down to the clinic for a course of hemodialysis. That should help ease the worst of it– the dialysis will be actively purging your body of all of the chemicals. And I’ll make sure you’re given plenty of Phenergan.”

 

“When will I be able to leave?”

 

“Oh, we’ll be keeping you under observation for at least two days,” Walker replied. “We’re going to do a thorough series of tests to make sure there hasn’t been any permanent damage.”

 

Realizing that CJ had had more than enough, Abby thanked the doctor and walked him out of the room.

 

Bartlett bit his lip, then stood up and walked over to the window, staring out through the bullet-proof glass, attempting to give CJ some privacy as she turned her face into her hands.

 

 

Abby came back in and immediately sat down on the edge of the bed, putting her arms around CJ.

 

“He’s a great doctor but his bedside manner sucks,” Abby muttered. “Look, CJ, I’m not going to be Mary Sunshine and tell you how lucky you are. I know you feel like hell and are scared to death.” Abby gently pulled away and peered at CJ. “But this is completely, 100% treatable, and they’re doing all the right things for you.”

 

CJ nodded, wiping her eyes. “I just want to know who did this,” she said. “I want to know why me.”

 

Abby squeezed CJ’s shoulders and looked over at the window where her husband stood. “I do, too.”

 

***

 

“Okay,” Toby said, sitting back in his chair and looking at the list Donna handed him. “That’s everything.”

 

The conference room was a testament to the painstaking work session that had been going on for the past two hours as Leo, Josh, Donna, Sam, and Toby sorted through the briefing packets, memoranda, and various other forms of paperwork that flooded CJ’s desk every day. Pastries, fruit, and sandwiches from the Mess Hall were scattered on any surface not covered in stacks of paper. Bottles of water, Dr. Pepper, Diet Pepsi, and Starbucks cups sat willy-nilly on the floor and on whatever few inches of space were available on the huge conference table.

 

It took a lot of paper to keep the Press Secretary up to date. Most of it could have been shortened down to summaries but CJ, scrupulous about knowing all the details and being ready for any question, insisted on full copies of the documents she’d be reporting on. Most of them were shredded by the end of the day or filed away by Carol.

 

“So what are we missing?” Leo asked. He looked tired. In a rare move, he had loosened his shirt collar and taken off his tie.

 

“Briefing notes from ...” Toby double checked the list, “An office at the DOJ, a list of …”

 

Donna, who had, for the past half hour, been noticeably quiet and pale, abruptly stood and headed for the door in the middle of Toby’s litany, stumbling a little as she went.

 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, catching at her arm as her hip thudded against the side of the chair.

 

“Need some air,” she mumbled, bringing a hand up to her temple. “I don’t feel so good.”

 

“Here, I’ll come with you.” He rose, exchanging concerned looks with Josh. “You look like you need a hand.”

 

“No, I’m okay.” She moved toward the door again but stumbled and went down to one knee on the carpet.

 

“Donna!” Josh was on his feet now, too. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Caaan’t fuh-eel muh fash …” She was slurring her words frighteningly. “’--osh.”

 

She pitched forward onto the carpet when her arms and remaining knee went out from underneath her.

 

“Donna!” Josh went to his knees next to her, face white. “Call the medics!”

 

Leo was all ready on the phone and had been from the moment Donna first headed for the door. He put his hand over the receiver and snapped, “Whatever she was drinking, don’t touch it!”

 

Toby jumped to his feet as Donna began to convulse, her body seizing. Josh reached frantically for her and Toby grabbed the smaller man’s shoulders to stop him from touching the shaking woman. “Don’t hold her down!”

 

“What the hell is happening to her?” Josh yelled.

 

Toby frowned grimly. “The same thing that happened to CJ.”

***

Danny made his way to the dialysis clinic but stopped before going inside, trying hard to get his thundering emotions under control. Seeing the vibrant woman he was head over heels in love with hobbled by a vicious attack was making him feel more than a little homicidal—but that wasn’t an emotion he wanted to bring into the room with him when he saw CJ. If the urge to pound the bastard who had done this into tiny pieces was strong, the urge to be a comfort to her was even stronger--he wanted to make sure that was all that she sensed from him.

 

CJ was alone in the clinic, and Danny wasn’t sure whether that was by accident or by design. There was a lone Secret Service agent at the end of the hall near the elevator and others were, no doubt, stationed in strategic places all over the floor. He didn’t know much about the Secret Service’s protection procedures—they were notoriously tight-lipped about how they did their job—but he guessed they probably attempted to offer their protectee as much privacy as they could where medical procedures were concerned.

 

The clinic featured a line of padded reclining chairs, each surrounded by an array of monitoring equipment and a large tank that resembled a water heater. CJ was lying in one of the recliners with a blanket over her legs. Two lengths of tubing extended from her arm– one flowing a stream of bright blood into the dialyser and one sending clean and filtered blood back into her arm from the machine.

 

Taking a deep breath to get himself under control, he stepped into the room and took the chair the nurse had set up next to her.

 

 

“Hey,” he said softly. “This looks kind of like you’re getting your oil changed.”

 

She opened her eyes. Her expression was one of utter gratitude and relief. “Hi. That’s not terribly far from the truth.” Her fingers found his and squeezed. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She looked around at the machines and raised an eyebrow. “This is kind of scary.”

 

He brushed his thumb across the inside of her wrist. “My surprise will help with that.” He reached down into his go-bag and pulled out a thick paperback. “Stephen King’s ‘It’—two thousand pages of friendship, 50s music and culture, and demon clowns. It’s an awesome book.” He grinned at CJ’s expression. “I thought maybe I’d read to you for awhile. I’ll even do voices for each character.”

 

CJ laughed. “You’re going to do a reader’s theater version of Stephen King for me? That’s fantastic … but you should know that this takes about four hours from start to finish so if you’re going to start you’re stuck here until the bitter end.”

 

Danny shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

 

“You do not! You have deadlines.”

 

“Not today I don’t.”

 

“Really?” CJ eyed him critically. “How did this magical lack of deadlines transpire?”

 

“I called Hastings, told him I had a sick friend.”

 

“And he just passed all your stories on to someone else?”

 

Danny gave her a mischievous grin. “He didn’t have any choice. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

 

He sat beside her and read, making good on his promise to create voices for each character. She listened attentively, even giggling at his really terrible attempt at a Maine accent, and made sure that she laughed, gasped, or commented in all the right places. He stopped a time or two to rest his voice, leaving once to bring back a cup of water for him and ice chips for her. They both tried their best to ignore the beeping of the blood pressure monitors and the hiss and slosh of the dialyser as it pumped and filtered.

 

About two hours in to the treatment she started feeling nauseated and dizzy, prompting Danny to call the nurse monitoring the dialysis.

 

“Yeah, this happens to a lot of patients,” the nurse said, making some notations on CJ’s chart. “It’s called wash-out. Your body chemistry gets out of whack from so much fluid imbalance. It isn’t pleasant but it’ll pass. There’s a basin right there if you need it.”

 

Danny followed him out of the room, not satisfied with the explanation. “Is this really normal or is she having these side effects because of the poisoning?”

 

“Oh, no, it really is normal. She’s just having a harder time because her CNS is all ready out of joint from the toxins in the ethylene glycol. Here, take her a cold washcloth.”

 

Danny came back in to the room to find her retching into the basin. He held her hair away from her face and gently rubbed the back of her neck until she could lay back down on her reclining chair, her face pale and clammy with sweat.

 

 

“So, I have a trick for when I feel like this after a night of drunken revelry.” He got the tiny smile he’d been hoping for. “Take a deep breath and count to five very slowly as you breathe in. Then count backward as you breathe out.”

 

He counted with her as she took a shuddering breath in across five slow seconds then released it across another five seconds, her fingers flexing against his as she struggled against the impulse the retch.

 

“There you go.” He stroked her hair away from her face. “Is it helping?”

 

“Yeah, it’s helping,” she breathed, locking her gaze with his. “Keep talking to me.”

 

He talked. He made up a story about Gail, their shared goldfish. He told her the latest gossip in the press room at the Washington Post’s main office. He continued with the storyline from the Stephen King novel. He recited as many stupid and useless bits of trivia he could think of as she clung to his hand, occasionally squeezing his fingers so hard it hurt.

 

Seeing her so sick and miserable was making his blood boil. According to Dr. Walker, the dose of ethylene glycol found in CJ’s drink was enough to have put her in a coma if it had gone untreated. _Thank god for Abby Bartlett_ , he praised silently. If she hadn’t recognized the symptoms of a drug interaction, CJ might have been dead by now.

 

Danny caught sight of Toby through the glass wall. The other man’s face was fraught with anxiety as he watched Danny soothe CJ through the worst of the nausea. Danny held up a hand, signaling that he’d be out in a moment, and bent over to murmur, “Toby’s here. I think he has news. Will you keep breathing for me?”

 

“I’ll work on it.” She released his hand and grabbed onto the blanket instead. “Are you coming back?”

 

“Of course.” He laid his lips against her forehead then stepped quickly away before he could change his mind and ignore Toby entirely.

 

He stepped out into the hallway, though he angled his body so that he could see CJ through the window.

 

“What’s happening to her?” Toby asked. He was using the soft, controlled voice that meant he was close to exploding. “Is she okay?”

 

 

“Side effect of the dialysis. It’s called--” Danny searched for the name. “–wash out. Her body’s rebelling because her chemicals are all out of whack.”

 

“Do you know what _strappado_ is, Danny?” Toby asked conversationally, eyes on CJ.

 

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

 

“It was a form of torture used during the Spanish Inquisition. Your hands are tied behind your back, and then you’re hung in the air by both wrists … which dislocates your shoulders.”

 

“Reverse hanging.”

 

“Yes. And that is what I will do to the person who did this to CJ. Anything the Secret Service and the FBI can do will not possibly hold a candle to making this son of a bitch hang by his dislocated shoulders while I beat the ever-living hell out of him with a belt.”

 

If Danny was surprised to hear this particularly violent sentiment from Toby, he didn’t show it.

 

“What’s new on your end?”

 

“Donna’s upstairs in the ER with the same symptoms.” Ignoring Danny’s look of shock, he continued. “They think it’s the same poison but we don’t know what it was in.”

 

“Jesus Christ! So this wasn’t just meant for CJ?”

 

“I don’t think so. The Secret Service doesn’t think so either. The White House is in lock-down while everything in the staff areas, lounges, kitchens, and mess is tested for ethylene glycol.” He peered past Danny and studied his best friend through the window. “I’ve never seen her look so sick.”

 

“Whoever is doing this means business, Toby. There was enough poison in that drink to put her in a coma.” He saw the man’s fists clench in response and knew the comment about strappado wasn’t just Toby being cavalier—if Toby ever got his hands on CJ’s assailant, the man would be black and blue inside of a minute. “You want to see her?”

 

Toby looked uncertain. “Is she up for it?”

 

“I’ll check.” He stepped back in and knelt beside CJ’s chair. “How you doing?”

 

“Peachy,” she said, letting out a slow breath. “Is Toby still here?”

 

“Outside. You want him to come in?”

 

“If he doesn’t mind a little blood and bile.”

 

Toby stepped into the room gingerly, as if he expected a bomb to go off if he set his foot down in the wrong place. He sat down in the chair Danny had vacated next to CJ and laid a hand on her arm.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hi,” CJ turned her head to look at him. “You look like hell.”

 

 

“This is why you get so many dates,” Toby told her, a grin quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Your charm and sensitivity.”

 

“And here I thought it was my stunning good looks.” CJ waved her hand at the pajamas she was wearing in lieu of a hospital gown– dark blue pajama pants and a lighter tank top– and then touched a hand to her clammy forehead. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me to look in the mirror to see someone who looks like hell.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with _my_ charm and sensitivity,” Toby dead-panned.

 

“You mean other than the fact that they’re non-existent.”

 

“Keep it up and I’ll set Josh loose in your press room.”

 

CJ blanched. “You win.” She closed her eyes, her fingers clenching and unclenching on the blanket. “God, I want this to be over,” she said through gritted teeth.

 

Danny checked his watch. “Another hour and a half. Can you hold on?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” She opened her eyes and peered up at Danny. “Why don’t you take a break, Danny? You’ve been sitting here with me for ages.”

 

“I’m ... okay.” He paused just long enough between the words, though, that CJ pounced.

 

“Danny, seriously, grab a cup of coffee. I’ll be fine with Toby.” She nodded her head toward his go-bag. “Are you supposed to be taking off somewhere?”

 

Danny looked at her as if she were crazy. “Yes, CJ, I’m heading off to track down a really big story you’re lying here in the hospital.” He shook his head. “The Bartlets arranged for me to stay on the security floor.”

 

“Danny, that’s sweet but you really don’t--” She had to break off and press a hand to her mouth, dragging in deep, desperate breaths. Toby tensed, moving forward on his chair, ready to help if she needed to lean over to be sick. She managed to overcome the wave of nausea and raised a shaking hand to pick up the cool cloth and dab at her face.

 

“Fuck this,” Danny exploded, upset and at his breaking point. “They need to fix this.” He swung out of the room and toward the nurse’s station, leaving CJ and Toby alone with the hiss of the dialyser.

 

“You’ve got one hell of a white knight there, CJ.” Toby fiddled with the edge of the blanket covering her. “God, I hate this.” He ran a hand over his face. “I could murder this bastard with my bare hands.”

 

“No homicide on my account,” she said. “I’m not worth the jail time.”

 

 

“You are.” He said it quietly but with conviction.

 

Danny came back in with the same male nurse, who began the process of removing CJ from the dialyser. Another nurse, this one from the security floor, had all ready arrived with a wheelchair and the familiar vial of Phenergan. Toby held her hand steady while the nurse administered the shot, then helped CJ stand shakily up and move into the wheelchair to go back upstairs to her room.

 

“You’ll feel better once we get some fluids and food into you, honey” the nurse said kindly as she helped CJ back into bed. “Wash-out’s hard on the body. Sometimes giving it a little fuel is all it takes to help drive that feeling out.”

 

“Fluids I’ll take. But I can’t eat,” CJ replied, grimacing.

 

“You’ve got to have something, honey,” the nurse said. “The saline’s keeping you hydrated but your body’s going to shut down on you if you don’t have some food. The White House staff said they’ll get you anything you want– just name it.”

 

CJ shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

 

“How about some toast? Or some fruit?”

 

“I really don’t feel like food right now,” CJ said again, her voice rising and jaw clenching. Danny raised an eyebrow at Toby, who walked tactfully out of the room on the pretext of answering a phone call. Turning to the nurse, he said softly, “Can you give us a minute?”

 

“CJ,” Danny started. “You’ll feel better if you--”

 

“Stop pushing me, Danny!” she snapped. “I think I can decide for myself whether I want to eat or not.” She turned away from him, trying to hide her eyes. “Look, can you leave me alone for a little bit please?”

 

Danny frowned. “Sure, but I thought you’d want me to–“

 

“I’m fine, Danny, really. I just– need to be alone right now, okay, and you’re crowding me.” Her voice was starting to shake with the effort of holding back tears. “Just give me an hour or two by myself, please.”

 

 

He nodded, trying to take it in stride. Being sick was bad enough– being sick in a fish bowl full of people staring and monitoring had to be even worse. He stood and crossed to the door. “I’ll see you later. Should I tell Toby to leave, too?”

 

“Yes. I just can’t–“

 

“It’s okay. He’ll get it. See you later.”

 

Danny shut the door and headed down the hall to where Toby was sitting in the waiting room– which looked more like a room in a country club than a hospital.

 

“Greta Garbo.”

 

Toby shot him an odd look.

 

“She wants to be alone,” Danny elaborated.

 

Toby grinned at the reference. “She okay?”

 

“At this point, I’d say the odds are strongly on the side of ‘not okay.’” Danny sank into a chair next to the Communications Director and shook his head. “What the hell’s going on here, Toby?”

“I wish I knew.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU is brought in from Quantico to investigate the attacks on CJ and Donna.

Danny came back to the hospital several hours later, amped on adrenaline and more than a little frustrated. He’d spent the last few hours pacing his apartment while conferencing with Sam and Carol via cell phone. Despite the lockdown, they were still reviewing every letter that came through the White House that the Secret Service considered suspicious or threatening. Leo, Margaret and Charlie were working with them. Josh was still at the hospital with an unconscious Donna; Toby was sitting with his anxious colleague.

 

The sheer volume of hate mail—and hate Tweets, hate websites, and hate Facebook posts-- their investigation was turning up was enough to give him pause. There were always going to be people who were angry with the government—he had no illusions that the American people were ever going to fall under the description of “satisfied customers” about ANYTHING. But he’d had no idea so many people poured that anger and vitriol onto the page and sent it out—not just to the President but to the First Lady, to Zoey Bartlett, to the Cabinet, the Joint Chiefs, and even the senior staff. The stack of letters, emails, Tweets, and flagged websites addressed to or directed at CJ was small, at least in comparison to those for the First Lady and the President, but it was substantial enough to worry him.

 

But nothing stood out in any of the letters, emails, or websites to pinpoint who would have poisoned CJ or why. All of the flagged correspondence contained threats of some nature, some decidedly more serious than others—he doubted CJ would be all that concerned, for example, if someone egged her townhouse door—but none of them had raised an immediate red flag. And now with no clear idea as to whether Donna was an additional target or simply collateral damage, he found himself fervently hoping the profilers from the FBI were going to show up before anyone had to rely on the detective work of a bunch of White House staffers.

 

He left his apartment more frustrated than he had been when he arrived and made himself walk a couple of blocks to blow off some steam before returning to the hospital.

 

Danny saw several new agents standing guard when he exited the elevator, so he surmised that Donna was at least stable enough to have been brought up to the security floor. His theory was proved when Josh exited a room down the hall from CJ’s.

 

“Hey, Josh.” Danny clapped his colleague on the back. “How’s she doing?”

 

“She’s conscious now,” Josh said, heaving a sigh of relief. “They couldn’t get her to come around at first. But she’s finally waking up. The nurse said I should get her some ice while they check her over.”

 

“I’ll show you where. Come on.” Danny led Josh down the hallway to the kitchen where a well-stocked fridge and pantry had everything the First Family might possibly need or want if they had to stay on the security floor for any length of time. The ice machine spat out crushed OR cubed ice which was made, so Danny had heard, from mineral water instead of tap.

 

“Are you sure she’ll just want ice?” Josh asked, packing a cup carefully with crushed chips. “Wouldn’t water or apple juice or something be better?”

 

“Apparently not after having your stomach pumped.” Danny took a cup of his own and filled it for CJ. “The IV will keep her hydrated, so don’t worry about that. If she has to do a course of dialysis, it’s better for her not to have fluids in her system anyway.” Danny blanched. “You might want to consider whether or not you want to see her through that. It’s not the most pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”

 

“Neither is being poisoned!” Josh snapped, then immediately sighed apologetically. “Sorry, man. I don’t--” Josh ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t do hospitals very well …or anything having to do with sickness, really.” He sat the cup down and leaned against the counter. “Danny, it was BAD. I mean, seriously bad. Watching her seize like that…”

 

Danny put a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—I mean, they didn’t give me the details.”

 

“It’s just that—she’s so little,” Josh said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying CJ’s big or anything …”

 

“I know what you mean,” Danny prompted.

 

“But Donna’s just … I don’t know … she’s got that Wedgwood china look. And she just--” He blew out a breath. “Anyway, this guy, whoever he is, he means business. Serious fucking business. It isn’t that I didn’t think so before but … well, CJ’s in the public eye, you know, I mean you almost expect a certain amount of …” Josh trailed off helplessly.

 

“I know. I saw the hate mail.”

 

“But Donna’s just … Donna. She’s my assistant—she’s not anyone special—I mean--”

 

“I get it. I do. When it’s CJ or Leo or the President, it’s not a surprise. It’s horrible and it’s infuriating but it isn’t a surprise because, like you said, they’re out there. They’re part of the public consciousness. But when it’s Donna … when it was you at Rosslyn … it makes it worse.”

 

“Don’t tell CJ I said that,” Josh said miserably. “Please. I love CJ. She’s like my sister. I’d never want her to think that I thought she had it coming or that it’s worse because it was Donna.”

 

Danny shook his head. “I’ll take it to the grave. Come on.” He gestured for Josh to precede him down the hall and walked him down to Donna’s room, where nurses were still congregating. “I’m down the hall with CJ if either of you need me.”

 

Josh nodded. “Thanks, Danny.”

 

The elevator opened again, spitting out two new arrivals. Secret Service moved to intercept them, although they’d clearly been vetted downstairs or they’d never have made it to the security floor. Danny broke in to a grin when he recognized one of the agents.

 

“Dave Rossi,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“Danny Concannon.” The older man clapped his hand in Danny’s and then pulled him forward into a hug. “What are the odds? How are you? You still at the Post?”

 

“Still at the Post. Senior White House correspondent.”

 

“Nice,” Rossi said with an admiring smile.

 

“Thought you got out of the Bureau about ten years ago,” Danny said.

 

“Couldn’t stay away.” Rossi gave him a sharp look. “You here on a story?”

 

“Not officially. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m here for the same reason you are.”

 

“You know one of the women who was poisoned?” Rossi asked, all business now.

 

“I know both of them.”

 

“Glad I ran into you, then.” Rossi turned and gestured forward his very pretty brunette partner. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss, this is Danny Concannon of the Washington Post.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Agent Prentiss said, offering her hand. “Did I hear you say you know both victims?”

 

It disturbed him to hear CJ and Donna described as victims although they were, technically, exactly that.

 

“I’ve worked with CJ for 5 years now. I don’t know Donna as well but, yes, I know her.”

 

“We’d like to interview them, see what they can tell us about what happened today,” Prentiss said.

 

“You may need to wait a bit on Donna,” Danny said, gesturing down the hall. “They just got her stabilized and moved up here. But Josh Lyman and Toby Ziegler were there and they can tell you what happened.”

“Emily, why don’t you go see if Miss Moss is in any shape to talk and I’ll go talk to Ms. Cregg,” Rossi said.

 

Prentiss nodded and headed down the hallway. Rossi raised an eyebrow at Danny. “Lead the way.”

 

Danny found CJ sitting up in bed, watching a Cary Grant movie. He was pleased to see that there was a tray next to her bed—a pitcher of juice, some half eaten toast, and a delicate bowl of jam. “CJ? Can I come in?”

 

CJ glanced away from the movie and her face lit with a smile when she saw him. “I was afraid I’d scared you off with my snarky attitude earlier.”

 

“If anyone has earned the right to be snarky, you have.” Danny wanted to lean in to kiss her forehead but remembered the FBI agent in the hall and restrained himself. “Are you feeling any better?”

 

“A little.” She smiled sheepishly. “Eating helped.”

 

Danny laughed. “See? There are some people on Earth who know more than you do.”

 

“I’ll admit it—once.” She sighed and leaned back against the pillows. “How’s Donna?”

 

“Stable. She’s down the hall. Josh and Toby are with her.”

 

“And how are you? Did you get any sleep?”

 

Danny shook his head. “Went back to my apartment. Worked with Sam and company going through the threat letters over the phone. CJ, there’s someone out in the hall who’d like to meet you. Can I bring him in?”

 

She blushed a little and her hand rose to her hair. “I look awful.”

 

“You look beautiful. Do you want a minute anyway?”

 

“No, I don’t think it’s going to get any better than this,” CJ sighed. “Come on in,” she called toward the door.

 

Rossi stepped in and gave her a winning smile meant to put her at ease. “Ms. Cregg, I’m SSA David Rossi from the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

 

“If it helps you catch this jackass, I’ll talk to you all day and night. And it’s CJ, please.”

 

“CJ.” Rossi nodded. “And I’m Dave. I hear you make Danny beg for every story.”

 

She grinned. “Not EVERY one. Just most.”

 

“Don’t let her fool you, Dave,” Danny said, pulling a chair next to CJ’s bed. “It’s EVERY story.”

 

Rossi laughed and then got serious. “CJ, I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier today at the White House. I know you’re probably not feeling very well but we generally find that the sooner we can do a cognitive interview, the better off we are in getting information to help us catch this unsub.”

 

“Cognitive interview?”

 

“Basically it’s me walking you through the events of this morning and afternoon bit by bit, helping you recall information and detail that you may not be able to bring to the surface on your own. How much do you remember of today do you think?”

 

CJ shook her head. “I don’t know … none of it feels very clear.”

 

“Everything we see in a day is catalogued in our brain … we just need a little help accessing it sometimes. I’m going to help you with the cognitive interview. Would that be all right?”

 

“Sure. I don’t know if I’ll be very helpful but I’ll try.”

 

“Danny, you were with her for part of the day?”

 

“I saw her for a few minutes before her press conference. Toby came and found me after she collapsed. And I was with her almost every minute from then on until they took her into the ER.”

 

“Good. Then I think between the two of you we should be able to fill in the gaps.” Dave leaned forward in his chair. “Close your eyes, CJ. Now, let’s walk back to the moment when you first started feeling strangely. When was that?”

 

“It was after a lunch meeting with Toby and Sam. We were planning out the best way to publicize the First Lady’s goodwill tour in Africa. We needed access to secure travel plans so we ordered in for lunch rather than take anything out of the building.”

 

“Where did you order from?”

 

“Carol usually picks so I’m not sure … it had a duck on the bag …”

 

“Duck and Decanter?” Danny asked.

 

“Yes, that sounds right.”

 

“And what did you order?”

 

“Carol wanted a salad—I remember because she teased me later when I said I wasn’t feeling well. Sam and Toby and I were starved so we ordered two of the really huge subs to share—pastrami and club.”

 

“Did you order anything to drink?”

 

“I got Diet Pepsi, like I always do. Sam ordered iced tea. Toby wanted Mountain Dew—I remember telling him he was going to go into a sugar coma if he drank a regular so he ordered a diet.”

 

“Were these bottled, canned, or from a fountain?”

 

“A fountain. I remember thinking that they were so enormous that I wasn’t sure how the delivery guy handled them all.”

 

“And when you got those drinks, how did they taste?”

 

“Mine tasted a little sweeter than usual … I thought maybe it was because they’d just changed out the soda syrup or that they’d given me regular instead of diet. I didn’t think anything of it.”

 

“Good, CJ. This is great. What happened after your lunch meeting?”

 

“I went back to my office to get some work done. My head was starting to hurt pretty badly, so I took some Aleve. Danny came in and asked for a story. We flirted a little bit. I called Carol and asked if she had any antacid. I was starting to feel really sick by then, so I went and sat on the couch. Danny got me to lie down, brought me a pillow and a trash can.”

 

“When you say you were starting to feel sick, can you describe what you mean?”

 

“My head was throbbing, which, let’s face it, isn’t all that unusual. But I was starting to feel queasy, too, and shaky, the way you do after you’ve run too far too fast and your heart is racing to catch up.”

 

“But you still did your press briefing,” Rossi asked.

 

“I’d do the briefings if the building was on fire,” CJ replied immediately.

 

“How did you feel by the time you went out to do your briefing?”

 

“Woozy. It was hard to stay up straight. I know I had to hold on to the podium once or twice.”

 

“The whole time,” Danny correctly gently.

 

“What?”

 

“You held onto the podium the whole time, CJ. You were hanging on to it until you were white-knuckled.”

 

“No, I--” She stared at him, frowning. “Did I?”

 

“That’s when I started wondering what was wrong. But I couldn’t find you after the briefing.”

 

“Okay, let’s focus,” Dave said, gently re-directing them. “So you finished the briefing. Then where did you go?”

 

“The Oval Office.”

 

“For what reason?”

 

“I had a meeting with the President to discuss …” CJ shook her head. “I don’t even remember what we were going to talk about. I was feeling so ill by then.”

 

“The same kind of ill?” Dave pressed. “Queasy? Headachey?”

 

“My stomach wasn’t just queasy, it was actually burning,” CJ recalled. “…the way it feels if you’ve ever been dumb enough to take vitamins on an empty stomach. Like something was burning from the inside out. My vision was starting to blur, too, and tunnel.”

 

“What happened then?”

 

“The President said ...” CJ licked suddenly dry lips. “He said he thought I looked sick. He offered to get me something. I said I wanted some air. I got up … everything was out of focus, swimming at the corners of my eyes …” She blinked fiercely, as if clearing her vision.

 

“You’re doing great,” Dave encouraged. “Tell me more. Did you get some air?”

 

“Yes. The President walked me outside … my stomach was burning and the burning was climbing up my throat and I knew I was going to be sick, so I went to the side of the walkway.” CJ reached for her cup of water and drank, her cheeks a hectic red. “It was so humiliating!”

 

“You couldn’t help it,” Danny said softly, his hand within easy reach of hers. “What happened then?”

 

“The President went inside to get some water. He brought it back and then went to see if Debbie had something in her desk to help with the nausea. Toby came out. He wrapped a coat around me. He helped me over to the bench under the portico.”

 

CJ went on describing the experience, bit by bit, recalling sensations that felt like a chemical burning its way through her, the resonating pain in her midsection, the dizziness and tunneling vision that made it so hard to see clearly.

 

“And then I woke up to this guy’s face hovering over me,” she finished, reaching for Danny’s hand, not caring what the FBI agent would make of it.

 

“That’s great, CJ, you did really well,” Rossi said with a smile. “I’m sorry to make you go through that again.”

 

“Will it help you catch him?”

 

“It will definitely give me some insight into how this guy is operating, which is very carefully and with a specific agenda in mind. He knew exactly how much of a dosage to give you to injure but not kill; he knew the best way to get that dose to you—masked by a diet soda that you regularly drink; and he knew enough about your schedule to know that you and your colleagues would be ordering in that day, not going out. ”

 

“That wouldn’t be anyone BUT someone in the White House.” CJ jerked upright, terrified. “The Secret Service locked DOWN the White House! Are my friends inside that building with someone set on poisoning them?”

 

“No, not them,” Rossi said thoughtfully. “You.”

 

“But Donna …”

 

“I don’t think Donna was a target. I think Donna was collateral damage.” Rossi rose. “I’m going to go talk to Agent Prentiss before I say more.”

 

“Are you saying Donna’s in the hospital because of me?” CJ asked faintly.

 

Rossi turned and immediately came back to CJ, realizing he’d made an error in voicing his thoughts. “No, CJ. No way. Donna’s in the hospital because of this unsub, NOT because of you.”

 

“He was after _me_!”

 

“He made a choice,” Rossi said firmly. “He chose to do this. Don’t take this on yourself. It is NOT your fault.”

 

“Just like Simon wasn’t my fault?” CJ asked bitterly.

 

Rossi cast a confused look at Danny, who winced. CJ answered Rossi’s unspoken question.

 

“Simon Donovan. The Secret Service agent assigned to me the _last time_ I had a stalker. The agent who died in the line of duty.”

 

“Simon walked into the middle of that robbery, CJ, you know that had nothing to do with you!” Danny argued.

 

“It had everything to do with me, he was protecting ME!” CJ yelled. “He would never have even been IN that store if it hadn’t been for me! If I hadn’t gone to New York that night he’d have been inside watching a movie instead of walking into a convenience store robbery.”

 

“CJ, honey—“

 

“Leave me alone,” CJ said, turning her face from the two men. “Please, just leave me alone.”

 

“Claudia,” Danny said softly.

 

“Please,” she said, tears evident in her voice. “Go.”

 

Rossi took Danny’s arm and walked him toward the door. “We’ll be outside.”

 

“Well, damn,” Rossi said drily once they were in the hallway. “I can’t say I like moving my subjects to tears.”

 

“It’s been that kind of a day,” Danny replied, running a hand through his hair. “She’s still feeling sick. And she’s not over Simon yet, not by a long shot.” He led the agent over to one of the couches in the waiting room and sat down. “Seriously, Dave, you think this is someone inside the White House?” He raised his hands at the agent’s look and said, “Off the record, I swear to god.”

 

“It would have to be. It couldn’t be anyone other than someone who’s intimately familiar with the comings and goings of the senior staff, someone who knew CJ, Sam, and Toby would be in a lunch meeting, would be ordering in, and someone who would also have access to the food and drinks itself.” He reached into his pocket and brought out the notebook he’d been using to jot down information. “Tell me about this Carol. What is she like?”

 

“Carol? Jesus, Rossi, no way! Carol is CJ’s secretary. She’s an absolute god-send. She keeps CJ’s schedule, she organizes her briefings, she orders out--” His voice died. “No. No way. There’s no way this is Carol.”

 

“I can’t rule her out, Danny,” Rossi said softly. “I can’t rule anyone out. Not yet.”

 

“But what about Donna? Carol and Donna are practically best friends.”

 

Rossi shrugged. “As it stands right now, she has the most access to CJ and that’s worth a look. So I’m heading to the White House shortly and I’ll talk to Carol while I’m there.” He stood. “Let me go see what Emily’s got.”

 

Danny nodded stiffly. “You do that. But I’m telling you, Dave, you don’t need to look at Carol. You don’t need to look at _any_ of them that way. These people are a tight-knit group and they love each other like family.”

 

“Danny,” Rossi said softly, “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, okay? I get that you’re attached to all of them. But I can’t look at them that way. I have to be objective or I can’t do my job.”

 

He watched Danny turn and head back into CJ’s room and sighed before straightening his shoulders and walking down the hallway where Emily, with impeccable timing, was just exiting Donna Moss’s hospital room. From the look of frustration on her face, he could see that she felt that she hadn’t gotten satisfactory answers.

 

“She doesn’t recall much about what happened,” Emily said grimly. “She was fairly sure that it was a Starbucks iced chai latte that made her so sick, although she couldn’t recall when she’d ordered it or when it had arrived. Memory loss, though, isn’t uncommon after a severe seizure, so we may not get much more out of her than that. The other members of the senior White House staff were also in the room but because there were so many people in and out with papers, briefing books, and cell phones, no one could recall when, or even if, she had called out for a Starbucks run. How’d your cognitive interview go?”

 

Rossi summarized the main points and finished with, “This is a tight-knit group of people who spend more time with each other than with anyone else on the face of the planet. I’d say that it’s unlikely that anyone inside their small circle did this. Here’s the conundrum--whoever did this has very intimate knowledge of the schedules, movements, and security protocols inside the White House. So, in a nutshell, we’re looking at an inside job … but with no real idea of who might have done this to two women who are so well liked and respected.”

 

Rossi scribbled some notes, cracked his knuckles in frustration, and looked at Prentiss to add her own insights.

 

“Here’s something that I think is strange,” Prentiss said obligingly. “CJ Cregg is high profile—she’s the face of the White House. Donna is the exact opposite. She’s a low-level assistant.”

 

“Not exactly low-level,” Rossi corrected. “She _is_ an assistant to the deputy Chief of Staff.”

 

“But still,” Prentiss pressed, “being the assistant to a deputy Chief of Staff doesn’t give you that much power, or that much access. She only has the President’s ear via Josh Lyman.”

 

Rossi nodded. “Okay, I’m following you.”

 

“So why,” she continued, “would someone decide to poison the press secretary to the President … which is sure as hell going to make a statement when it gets out … and it hasn’t got out yet, but it will … and then follow it up with an assistant, someone who is virtually always behind the scenes and probably always will be? Why target these two women specifically?” She thought for a moment. “As ridiculously sexist as it sounds, could this be because they are both women?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Rossi said. “If we have more victims over the next couple of hours then we may have to re-think that but for the moment, let’s go with the assumption that these two were targeted for who they are or what they stand for, as opposed to a more generalized reason like gender.”

 

Prentiss nodded in acquiescence and moved on. “Then there’s the matter of the poison itself. Ethylene glycol is used in household products and anti-freeze. Who has access to that in the White House?”

 

“Mechanics and drivers for the motor pool have immediate and ready access to antifreeze. Any maintenance person or handy-man could get to it from the garages. But again comes the question of why a driver, mechanic, or handy-man would be interested in CJ or Donna.”

 

Prentiss closed her eyes and sighed impatiently. “Okay. We need to look more closely at the threat letters that CJ received.”

 

“Secret Service has all ready sent copies of the hate mail to Quantico and has sent the web addresses for social media sites to Garcia so we can go over them with our eyes. I’d like to interview both victims one more time, together, although we’ll have to wait a couple of hours if Donna’s as fragile as you said. In the mean time, let’s come up with an initial profile and modify it as needed.”

 

“I’ll call Garcia and have her look at the past histories of the current White House employees. I know that to be in the Secret Service it takes a spotless record, but maybe that’s not the case for everyone at Pennsylvania Avenue.”

 

“Good idea,” said Rossi. “You make that call to Garcia … I’m going to go talk to the staff at the White House.”


	4. Enter Spencer Reid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid and Prentiss come to question CJ, Danny, and Toby about what they know ... or what they THINK they know.

CJ Cregg rarely cried. It wasn’t a helpful trait for someone who, by the very nature of her job, was expected to be tough as nails. But after Rossi’s cognitive interview she found herself weeping openly at the reminder of brave, sweet Simon Donovan. So after Danny and Rossi left the room, she allowed herself to succumb to the angry, frustrated tears that were building behind her eyes.

 

The tears weren’t only for Simon—they were for the terrifying events of the afternoon and the horrible sick feeling that was still lodged in the pit of her stomach; for the distressing news that Donna, too, had been poisoned and was gravely injured; for the deep anxiety she felt for her friends who were still locked down at the White House with a poisoner in their midst.

 

When she had had her cry, she shut her eyes, let the tears dry on her cheeks, and fell into a fretful doze, having expended the little bit of energy she’d gained from the paltry meal she had tried to force down her throat at her nurse’s insistence.

 

In that twilight sleep, she heard the door to her room open. She tensed, struggled toward full consciousness, but then relaxed when she felt Danny’s familiar touch on her forehead.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine.”

 

She dozed again and half-listened to him puttering around her room, arranging bouquets of flowers (more of which seemed to be showing up every hour) and drawing the curtains. A while later she felt a cool washcloth on her flushed cheeks, smoothing away the stiffness left from the salty torrent of tears.

 

“Danny,” she murmured, opening her eyes and blinking to bring him into focus. “How’s Donna?”

 

“They just took her down to the dialysis clinic. They’re going to sedate her for it, though, because she’s so anxious. Her blood pressure is a lot higher than they’re comfortable with.”

 

“I should go down there.” She tried to rise and was singularly annoyed to find her body refusing to obey even that simple command.

 

“No, CJ, you really shouldn’t. You should stay here and get some rest. You have another round of dialysis and some neurological tests to get through before they’ll even consider letting you go home.”

 

CJ bit her lip to fight back another wave of tears then, frustrated with that as well, swiped angrily at her eyes. Danny sat next to her and took her hand in his, stroking the top of her hand with his thumb.

 

“It’s fine to cry,” he patiently said. “It’s fine because you’re sick and scared and angry. No one’s watching and no one’s judging.” He squeezed her fingers. “If you think it’ll help I’ll climb right up there with you and you can quite literally cry on my shoulder.”

 

CJ managed a watery laugh and took several deep breaths. “Actually, I’d really like that. Do you mind?”

 

“Not in the least.” Danny kicked off his shoes and shucked his jacket. “Find a movie for us to watch while I change into something more comfortable, okay?”

 

She thumbed through the Netflix cue, looking for something comforting and familiar until she finally settled on “The Philadelphia Story.” Danny returned moments later in jeans and a v-neck sweater and unhesitatingly climbed up onto the bed next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

 

“Excellent. Watching a tall brunette with a sultry voice is my favorite form of entertainment.” He grinned when she giggled. “What? It is! You know that better than anyone, seeing as how my hobby is watching you.”

 

“I’m taller than she is,” CJ remarked, shooting him a flirtatious glance. “She was only 5’7”.”

 

Danny gave her a squeeze. “You’re taller than _most_ people, sweetheart. But it makes you all the more appealing.” He adjusted the pillows so that she could comfortably snuggle against him and brought his hand up to stroke her hair.

 

An hour into the movie, Danny’s phone vibrated. He reached for it while trying not to move CJ, who was lightly dozing.

 

“This is Danny.”

 

“Danny, this is Dave Rossi.”

 

“What’s going on, Dave? Any news?”

 

“Some, but nothing you’re going to like. My guys at Quantico have been assessing those threat letters, emails, and websites and, while some of them bear watching, none of them indicate that this is the work of a member of the general public. So we are definitively looking for someone inside the White House who has ready access to CJ and everything associated with her—her schedule, her belongings, her office, her food.”

 

Danny blew out a breath. “You’ve got to understand, Dave, that that could be any of literally a hundred people. It’s hard to get cleared to go inside the West Wing but once you’re in, you’ve got free reign. Anyone can access the daily schedules for the senior staff; that’s especially true of CJ’s because she needs to be within easy reach of everyone. You’re looking at a huge number of people who could get within arm’s length of her—senior staff, assistants, interns, Mess staff, security, journalists … where are you planning on starting?”

 

“With the senior staff and their assistants. The rest of my team is on the way in from Quantico now.”

 

Danny clenched his jaw in an attempt to stop the angry, frustrated tirade that was building. Rossi was doing his job.

 

“So the White House is still in crash mode?”

 

“Until we finish interviewing every single person who was in this building at the time of the attack, yes, it is.”

 

“I bet the President’s thrilled.”

 

“Actually, he’s been very cooperative.”

 

At the mention of the President, CJ sat up, blinking hard to clear her vision, and laid a hand on his arm. He held a hand up to forestall questions and said, “Look, Dave, I’m assuming that since you want to talk to everyone that includes all of us here at the hospital, is that right?”

 

“It does.” Rossi’s voice was cautious.

 

“If that’s the case, can you send someone over here sooner rather than later? Donna’s only going to be conscious for a short time after she’s done with dialysis, CJ needs rest, and I’m about ready to crash myself. I imagine Josh and Toby probably feel the same way.”

 

“I’ll send two of my agents over right now. One of them will talk to CJ and Donna together, the other will talk to you, Toby, and Josh. Fair enough?”

 

“Fair enough. Thanks, Dave … for keeping me in the loop.”

 

“Not a problem. I’ll catch up with you later, Danny.”

 

As soon as he hung up the phone, CJ pounced. “What is it?”

 

He quickly summarized Rossi’s statements and ended with, “Are you up for another interview?”

 

She shut her eyes and sighed and Danny was battered again by alternating waves of concern for her and anger at the bastard who had done this to her.

 

“If it’ll catch the son-of-a-bitch, yes, I can do another interview … but not much beyond that. I’m really starting to get tired.”

 

“I’ll kick them out as soon as you tell me to.” He tenderly caressed her cheek. “You know how sexy it is that you’re so damn brave?” At her head shake, he replied, “It is REALLY goddam sexy.” He felt her lean into his palm and he moved forward just enough to kiss her forehead. “Try to sleep until Rossi’s guys get here, okay. Just rest right here against me. Secret Service will come get us when it’s time.”

 

He let the movie play again. CJ leaned against him, her eyes on the screen at first then drooping until she was asleep again. He stroked her hair, pouring every ounce of loving concern into his fingers.

 

An hour later, the nurse was changing out CJ’s IV drip when the Secret Service agent outside knocked. Danny opened the door and stepped out rather than allowing anyone else access to CJ.

 

Agent Prentiss was standing in the hallway with a slight young man whose vaguely rumpled appearance suggested an extraordinarily young college professor rather than an FBI agent. Danny cocked his head slightly, wondering where the Bureau was recruiting from these days but extended his hand.

 

“Danny Concannon.”

 

“Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. This is Emily Prentiss.”

 

“We met all ready. A nurse is in with CJ, so you’ll need to give her a moment.”

 

“Certainly.” Prentiss cast a quick look down the hallway toward Donna’s room. “I can go see if Miss Moss is ready to talk.”

 

“As far as I know she’s still down at the dialysis clinic,” Danny replied. “And Josh will most likely be with her. I don’t know where Toby’s at.”

 

“Here.” Toby’s gruff voice came from the couch behind Prentiss and Reid, and then his head appeared over the back of it. He caught Danny’s eye. “I wanted to give you guys some privacy but I wasn’t quite ready to go home so I crashed right here.” He took a look at the FBI agents. “So I take it one of you will want to waste my time even further and question me yet again to confirm I’m not the mad poisoner.”

 

“Uh, yes, sir, those are our orders.” Prentiss looked a little flustered at Toby’s thinly veiled hostility. “Either myself or Dr. Reid will talk to you as soon as it’s convenient.”

 

“I’m not terribly interested in recounting my day to someone who looks like a college freshmen on his way to physics class so I guess it’ll be you.” Toby gestured to the armchair across from him. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

Prentiss exchanged a look with her colleague that fell somewhere between amused and annoyed and sat down across from Toby. Danny mouthed “Play nice,” at Toby and gestured for Dr. Reid to accompany him down the hallway toward the kitchenette where, mercifully, coffee was brewing.

 

“Sorry for Toby, he’s a little on edge.” Danny poured himself a cup. “Coffee?”

 

“No, thanks, I don’t drink caffeine. And I don’t get offended, so that’s not a problem either.” Dr. Reid cocked his head in a way that got Danny thinking of the android Data on _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. “I would like to discuss the events of the day with you while we’re waiting on Ms. Cregg.”

 

“I told everything I remember to Dave earlier but a few follow-ups won’t hurt. Ask away.”

 

“You said that the first time you noticed Ms. Cregg looking unwell, it was after she had had a lunch meeting with two staffers, Sam Seaborn and Toby Zeigler, correct?” At Danny’s nod, he continued, “Have either of those men exhibited symptoms or ill effects consistent with poisoning?”

 

“Not to my knowledge,” Danny replied. “Sam’s still back at the White House and you just saw Toby. Except for his bad attitude, he’s perfectly fine.”

 

“Were either of them in contact with the food and beverages before they actually sat down to eat?”

 

“I couldn’t tell you. Probably not. Primarily it’s Carol or one of the interns that orders the food and then picks it up from the security guy at the front desk.”

 

Reid seemed a bit more interested in this. “Are you familiar with the security guards?”

 

“Enough to say good morning and good night. They’re supposed to keep aloof from the people who work in the building, the same way the Secret Service isn’t allowed to get too friendly with their protectees.” He cast Reid a measuring look. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down somewhere?”

 

“I have an eidetic memory,” Reid replied, which actually didn’t surprise Danny all that much. “Mr. Concannon …”

 

“Danny.”

 

“Danny. Have you ever noticed any of the security guards paying undue attention to Ms. Cregg? Or has she ever complained about one of the guards being more solicitous than he ought to? Maybe offering to escort her to her office or her car?”

 

Danny had to think. “Yeah, actually. It was about six months ago and she said one of the guards … a younger guy, I think it was … was being a little too attentive. Not creepy stalker attentive but enough so that it was making her nervous to pass him in the lobby. She had a word with Ron Butterfield who runs the Secret Service detail and they rotated him to out early. They rotate assignments, you know, to keep people from getting complacent.”

 

Dr. Reid nodded and motioned for him to continue.

 

“So they moved him out of the lobby and into one of the other high security areas … the front gate, I think. After the front gate, you move to the perimeter of the grounds, and then maybe up to the roof. I’m not too clear on the details. But it would have taken him awhile to get back around to the security desk, if he was going to be allowed back at all.”

 

Reid nodded and Danny could almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he mentally took notes. Danny finally admitted, “I don’t have a degree in this the way you guys do, so tell me this. Theoretically, why would someone with a crush on CJ turn around and try to poison her?”

 

“The psychopathology of a stalker is intensely interesting,” Reid responded, eyes lighting up at the chance to impart wisdom. “He grows heavily attached to the object of his affection, even if she doesn’t notice him. He dotes on her, bringing her presents, sending her notes, paying attention to her in ways that he considers flattering but she might find unnerving. If the stalker finds that his attention is unreciprocated, it makes him frustrated and angry, forcing him to think of ways that he might gain the attention of the woman in question. Those attempts can lead to confrontations or violence.”

 

Danny pounced on one particular part of Reid’s phrasing. “You keep saying he and she.”

 

“Stalkers are overwhelmingly male and victims overwhelmingly female. There are exceptions of course … there are always exceptions … but on the whole men stalk women much more than women stalk men.”

 

“So, if that’s the case, you’ll tell Rossi to lay off of Carol. She wouldn’t stalk and poison her own boss.”

 

Reid shifted his weight and looked closely at Danny. “Mr. Concannon, I understand it’s tough to see your friends and colleagues under scrutiny but we have to consider every angle. This is the one I’ve been assigned to assess.”

 

“So right now you personally think a security guard has something to do with CJ’s poisoning.”

 

Reid shrugged noncommittally. “I can’t rule anything in or out at this point. We have very little to go on. But I don’t think it would hurt to examine every potential avenue of people who had access to Ms. Cregg. This security guard … did she ever mention his name?”

 

Danny wracked his brain and finally shook his head. “I don’t think she ever did. I don’t think she even KNEW his name, quite frankly. Like I said, the men and women who do other jobs in the building—security, cleaning crew, maintenance-- are encouraged not to get too friendly with those of us who work directly in the West Wing. It causes too many potential security problems.”

 

Reid nodded. “I understand. Nonetheless, I have to ask if she would recognize him if she saw a picture.”

 

Danny shrugged. “I really don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”

 

“Would she be able to tell us if he was anywhere in the room today when she collapsed?”

 

“It happened so quickly… I’m sure it was a blur for her. But she did really well in her cognitive interview with Rossi, so there might be something she could recall.”

 

Reid nodded. “Would you mind if I asked her some more questions?”

 

“As long as you make it quick, no, I don’t mind at all. If it helps you catch this guy, then talking to you is in her best interest.”

 

Now Reid did pull out a notepad and start making some notes. “I’ll call my tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, and get her to email me photos of everyone who works on the White House Security detail. It’ll take me a few minutes to get them together. Once that’s done, I’ll pull the photos up for her on my iPad and see if she can pick him out.”

 

“Even if she does,” Danny cautioned, “She might not be able to tell you if he was in the room today.”

 

“That’s where another cognitive interview will come in. She worked really well with Rossi, you said. Do you think she’ll be able to work just as well with me?”

 

Danny shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

 


	5. Motive and Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Spencer Reid interviews CJ, Toby, and Danny and the identity and motives of CJ's assailant is finally revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Obviously I have no experience with what really goes on in the life of a press secretary or what the security measures are at the White House so I pieced CJ’s descriptions of her typical day together from West Wing episodes and extrapolated the rest. If there are obvious mistakes and you have the knowledge to help me correct them, please feel free to leave a comment and I’ll gladly rectify the error. Thanks! 
> 
> A/N 2: The book “Mindhunter” by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker is a great starting point for learning more about the criminal profiling process, as well as the mindset and motivations behind stalkers and other types of criminals. The information presented about stalkers in this section is culled from “Mindhunter,” The National Center for Crime Victims, the APA, and other research completed by this author.

**The West Wing—Toxicity, Part 5**

After his ridiculous interview with the (admittedly hot) profiler, Toby knocked softly on CJ’s door before slipping inside to see his best friend.

She still had an IV dripping into her arm, a sight that didn’t fill him with confidence. Were they still trying to counteract the poison? Why the hell wasn’t Danny keeping him more up to date? A small tray of juice, soup, and crackers was on her bedside table, largely untouched. “Rear Window” was playing on the flat-screen TV—she loved Jimmy Stewart AND Hitchcock so it was a win-win movie choice—but she wasn’t paying terribly much attention to it. She looked better than she had several hours ago, but nowhere close to recovered … or even on the road to it.

“CJ?”

At his voice, she opened her eyes and gave him a smile … it was meager but it was still a smile … and his heart gave a glad throb in his chest.

“Hey,” she said, extending her hand to him. He took it, squeezed it, and though he intended to drop it again, found he was having an incredibly hard time letting go of her hand. But judging by the way she tangled her fingers with his and squeezed until it hurt, she seemed to be feeling the same way. “You’re still here.”

“Well … you’re here. Donna’s here. Danny’s here because you’re here. Josh’s here and out of his mind because Donna’s here … I figured I’d make it a party and stick around.” He pulled a chair over and sat next to her. “How are you feeling?”

“Strange.”

“Well, you’ve always been strange so that’s no surprise.” He was gratified that she had enough energy to sock him in the arm because of his comment. “Any better?”

“I mainly feel quivery and weak. My stomach and throat feel like they’ve been scalded with hot water.”

Toby blanched. “So, I guess eating’s out of the question.” He jerked his head at her tray.

She shook her head. “I can’t eat. No way.”

Toby furrowed his brow. “Still nauseated?”

“It isn’t nausea …” CJ worked to find the words. “It’s … I don’t WANT to eat. I don’t want to risk having it happen again. And that’s ridiculous because I know the White House chef is making my food himself and sending it over with an agent … but even that’s too many people exposed to what I’m putting in my mouth… especially when they haven’t caught the guy who did this.”

Toby nodded. “I understand.” He hesitated a moment, then offered awkwardly, “I can make you some toast if you want. I mean, if you trust me not to poison your food.”

Her face crumpled for a moment as if she was going to cry. “Toby …” She lifted their twined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Sometimes you just piss me off beyond all belief and then you say something like that and make me remember why I absolutely adore you all over again.”

He returned the gesture. “I may be infuriating but you’ve got to admit that I’m endearing.”

“I’ll admit it once.” She re-adjusted the pillows behind her. “Is Danny still here?”

“Of course. I can’t believe you’d even ask. He’s out in the common room with the profilers from Quantico.”

“Oh, so that’s why you look as though you’re about to spit acid. Had a fun interview, did you?”

Toby snorted derisively. “You know how I feel about the FBI’s ability to do their job.” He paused for just the right amount of time and then deadpanned, “But Agent Prentiss was pretty foxy so it wasn’t a total loss,” giving himself a mental pat on the back when CJ laughed.

There was a knock on the door and Danny slipped inside. “Hey.” He nodded at Toby. “You ready for this one last interview?” His tone clearly communicated that it _would_ be the last, even if he had to stand in front of her door and barricade it with his body.

CJ took a deep breath and nodded, automatically sitting up straighter. “Yes.”

“The rules are that he keeps it short and it stops whenever you want it to. You need to rest.”

“No argument there. Let’s get this over with.”

Danny opened the door and gestured to someone who was standing outside.

A man no older than his mid-thirties came into the room carrying an iPad. He offered a mild smile to everyone and crossed to CJ’s side with an extended hand.

“Ms. Cregg, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Thank you for agreeing to see me. I know you must be tired.”

“I am, but I’ll do my best to answer whatever questions you may have.”

“I appreciate it.” He walked her through her day in the same manner Rossi had, though he did, as Danny had stipulated, keep it short, confirming the details she had given earlier and clarifying where necessary. Finally he got to a question Rossi hadn’t asked earlier:

“Ms. Cregg, can you tell me about the people you come in contact with during the day …who they are, what their function is at the White House, where you see them?”

CJ took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts. “Well, there are a lot of them so this may take awhile. I see the President and First Lady, of course. Leo McGarry, our chief of staff. Josh Lyman, deputy chief of staff. Toby, communications director. Sam Seaborn, deputy communications director. Carol, my secretary. Donna, Josh’s secretary. Danny. The reporters in the press pool …”

Reid cut her gently off. “What about the people _other_ than the senior White House staff and their assistants?” He paused and then said, “If it helps, why don’t you walk me through a typical day at the White House from the moment you arrive to the moment you leave. Start with who you see when you walk up to the front gate.”

“Okay. At the front gate we have to check in with Park Service security … the White House is a national monument and they have to be accountable for visitors. Then we check in with the Secret Service agents. There are Marine Guards at the North Portico and then security guards inside the front lobby. We have to stop at the security desk for a search of our bags and to show credentials before we can continue on into the West Wing. All of the executive assistants and secretaries work in the bullpen and I see them all when I arrive, unless it’s extremely early. I generally run into this guy --” She gave Toby a little nudge, “—and sometimes Leo. We go down to the Mess to get a cup of coffee and something to eat if we don’t have a breakfast meeting with someone else.” She trailed off uncertainly. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Reid nodded encouragingly. “Yes, it is. It’s great. Now, I want to concentrate on security for a moment. Mr. Concannon mentioned a security guard who was making you uneasy. Can you tell me about that?”

“That was, I don’t know, five months ago maybe and it didn’t start off as a big deal … he was a younger guy new to the detail who was starting out at the front gate. He always said good morning, was polite, low-key. He would sometimes remark on something I’d said in a briefing the day before … usually whatever dumb joke I’d felt the need to make or some smart-ass come-back I’d made to a ridiculous question. Since I get there so early I’d talk to him for a few minutes until someone else drove up and then park my car and head inside.”

“Did the guard rotation eventually take him inside the White House?”

CJ nodded. “They rotate every three months. So he eventually arrived at the security desk and it was the same, you know … polite conversation. But some mornings he wanted to talk a lot more than was necessary …and more than I had time for, frankly. He just couldn’t take the hint that I needed to get to work.”

She brought a hand up to play with her necklace, a gesture she routinely made when she was thinking aloud, and seemed surprised when her necklace wasn’t at her throat-- it had been removed when she arrived at the E.R. She ran her hand through her hair instead and continued.

“It got unsettling when he started coming into the office area to bring lunch deliveries or drink orders. That’s definitely not something the guards are supposed to do … security is forbidden to leave the desk during the day because there are tour groups in and out. We have runners for packages and deliveries that come back to us and for rush items that we need sent immediately. That’s never been a part of security’s job.”

“But the guards DO have access to food and drinks brought in from the outside because they have to screen them, correct?” Reid clarified.

“Yes,” she replied. “They screen everything that comes back to us using x-rays.”

“And this young man brought things back to you even though it was obviously against protocol.”

CJ nodded. “And the thing is, he was really obvious about the fact that he wanted to see me, you know? I mean, he could be handing something over to Donna or Carol, but he was always looking in my direction. Sometimes he’d come over to say hi if I was working in my office.”

“How did you respond when he did this?” Reid asked.

“I was polite but I always made sure I looked busy … although that isn’t something I need to pretend. I know a couple of times I was probably too brusque with him but I just wanted him to stop bothering me.”

“And did he?”

“No. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I thought he had a crush and didn’t realize he was being a little too obvious about it. But when his trick of coming back to the office area started happening a lot … like multiple times a week … that’s when Carol told me that I needed to mention it to someone, mainly because he was freaking her out, too.”

Danny jumped in. “Tell him about the time he came into the press room.”

“God, I’d almost forgotten!” CJ shifted against the pillows and absently rubbed at the bruised area of her arm where the IV needle was still stuck. “I was giving a briefing and when I looked around the room I saw him at the door, watching me. Well not JUST watching …staring very intently. It was unnerving, especially because he was supposed to have gone off shift all ready … if the guards arrive in the morning, they’re gone by 2pm, 3pm tops. But it was 5pm and he was still there. And he was just watching and smiling, looking like he was really enjoying himself. Hell, I don’t enjoy my own briefings as much as he obviously was. And he stuck around afterward, too, even after everyone else had gone and I was trying to talk to Danny, Tim, and Katie about their follow-up questions. There he was, just hanging out, peering at the windows.”

Danny picked up the narrative. “She’d mentioned this kid before, said that he was making her feel a little nervous, and I wasn’t going to leave her alone in the room with him, so I kept asking her questions and he kept hanging around—pretty obvious stalemate. So I casually asked him what he looking for. He said he’d been asked to check the bulletproof glass in the windows for cracks or chips.”

“Which is total bull because maintenance and grounds would have taken care of that, not security,” CJ added.

“After that she started asking me to walk her out at night,” Danny said. “And when she explained what had been going on with him, I told her to talk to Ron Butterfield, get the kid moved to another part of the building. She did and he was and that was the end of it.”

Reid nodded, mental wheels obviously turning. “Mr. Zeigler, did you ever witness this behavior from the security guard? Or did Ms. Cregg ever come to talk to you about it?”

Toby thought for a moment. “I noticed the guard once or twice but I didn’t think much of it. There ARE legitimate reasons for them to be back in the office spaces … they escort visitors to meetings and offices and make sure the visitors don’t go someplace they shouldn’t. So if he was around a bit too often, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“So Ms. Cregg didn’t bring it up to you?”

“No, she didn’t.” He turned to CJ. “Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “There wasn’t any reason to bother you with it. We have bigger problems to deal with than some kid with a crush on me.”

“Yeah, well, now we have the bigger problem of you severely injured and some mad poisoner on the loose in the White House.” Toby’s voice rose. “You should have told me, CJ.”

“It’s incredibly easy to say that in retrospect but if I’d brought that to you, you would have laughed me out of your office … and you know it.”

“I would never--”

“Okay,” Danny said, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “Let’s get back to the real issue here and argue about ‘shoulda coulda wouldas’ later.” He turned back to the profiler. “Dr. Reid, based on what CJ’s just told you, do you think this security guard is the one who put the ethylene glycol in CJ and Donna’s drinks?” He furrowed his brow. “And how the hell does Donna fit into this anyway? That’s the part I’m having trouble with.”

Reid replied smoothly, “Based on what you’ve told me of this man’s behavior thus far, he is a likely candidate for the assault on Ms. Cregg. As for where and how Ms. Moss comes into play, I can’t give you a clear answer without talking to her first. Agent Prentiss is doing so right now. We’ll need to compare notes with the rest of our team.”

“So what did it?” Toby asked. “What made this guy decide that today was the day he needed to go from ‘nut with a crush’ to ‘potential felon’ in one fell swoop? And if he likes CJ so damn much, why did he try to kill her?” When CJ’s lips thinned and her fingers tightened on the bed sheet, he gave her an apologetic look and lightly touched her shoulder.

“There would have to have been a trigger that prompted this behavior, some event that caused undue stress or emotional upset in this unsub. Ms. Cregg, when did your last interaction with this guard take place?”

CJ shook her head. “Months ago, right before he was transferred out of the West Wing and to wherever he is now. I don’t even know where on the grounds he was moved to. Ron Butterfield could tell you that.”

“And you’ve had no contact with him since then?”

“None at all.” CJ met Reid’s eyes and hers were sad and frustrated. “Dr. Reid, I want to know what I did to cause this.”

Reid gave her a measured look. “Ms. Cregg, it’s been my experience that stalking victims have nothing whatsoever to do with why they were attacked. Whatever motivation he had, it was intrinsic, not extrinsic. There is nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening. The truth of the matter is that when it comes to stalkers, they are the only ones who have any control over their behavior … and that control can be wildly erratic.”

“Shouldn’t the Secret Service have caught that there was something off about this guy?” Toby burst out. “Their security and psychological screenings are so intensive I can’t imagine how they missed it if he’s that mentally unstable.”

“Stalking behavior may arise out of an obsessive personality, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing to have. People with obsessive personalities often demonstrate traits which are highly valued in the workplace—being thorough and detail oriented, seeing tasks through to satisfactory conclusions, being neat and orderly, organized and efficient. People with obsessive personality traits such as those rarely turn toward violence or psychopathy … it’s only rarely that it develops into a need to stalk … so there is no guarantee that a psychological screening would have picked up on anything other than a tendency to be a little too detail oriented.”

CJ leaned her head back against the pillow and shut her eyes. “So this was random chance?” she asked dully. “This was me being in the wrong place at the wrong time, being too nice to the wrong person?”

Reid hesitated before answering. “You’re a beautiful woman in a highly visible and respected profession. As with actors, politicians, or other high profile people who are stalked, it is more about the image you project than it is about the person you are. It may very well be that this young man wants to impress you because you are someone he is impressed with.”

“Like Hinckley when he shot Reagan,” Danny put in. “He was doing it to impress Jodie Foster because she was successful in a way he couldn’t be.”

“And he _has_ linked her name with his forever in the public’s mind,” Reid replied. “It was the same with Chapman and Lennon, Cunnanan and Versace. All either wanted to impress or wanted to BE their victims.”

CJ shuddered, prompting Danny to move to sit on the bed next to her and put an arm around her. Reid took in the gesture then said slowly, “There is one aspect, however, which bears consideration. Mr. Concannon, is your relationship with Ms. Cregg public knowledge?”

Both CJ and Danny hesitated so long before answering that it was Toby who finally spoke. “When they’re at the White House they cannot-- and do not-- have a relationship; it’s bad form for the press secretary to date one of her reporters. But we all see the way that Danny looks at CJ and the way she gets irritated as hell when she’s trying not to look back at him the same way …”

“Hey!” CJ broke in, socking Toby in the arm. “I do NOT look at Danny in ANY way …”

“So …” Toby continued over her protests, batting away her hand, “it’s sort of an open secret.”

“How open a secret?” Reid asked keenly.

“The West Wing staffers certainly …”

“He means do the janitorial staff and the groundskeepers and the people in the Mess keep a running bet on how long it’ll be before someone peeks through a keyhole and sees me kissing her in the office?” Danny broke in. “You want to know if security guy would have known about it.”

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Reid affirmed, eyes on Danny and CJ. “So I’ll ask again … how open a secret?”

CJ blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Goddamit, I don’t even remember the kid’s name! Why the hell would he be so interested in my relationship with Danny?”

“Well,” Reid said matter-of-factly, “what often prompts a stalker into action is the belief that if he can’t have the person he wants, no one else should be able to either. Seeing you with Mr. Concannon might have been the trigger.” He addressed the next question to Danny. “Did you and Ms. Cregg interact recently in a way that might have indicated your relationship?”

“Look,” Danny said, trying not to lose his temper, “I generally act in a way that indicates how I feel about CJ, largely because I can’t help myself. I watch her when she walks. I flirt when we talk. I put my hand on her back before we go into a room together. When I’m around her I grin like an infatuated idiot. I wear my feelings for her on my sleeve. So if what you’re trying to get across is that it’s my fault that she’s in the hospital with an IV in her arm and another two trips to the dialysis clinic on tap then just tell me so I can start beating myself up over it!”

CJ laid a calming hand on his arm. “Danny … you heard him; it’s no one’s fault …”

“It’s the fault of the guy who did this and no one else,” Toby said, his voice gruff and tired. “Look, Dr. Reid, I don’t see how running us through the ringer is going to give you more than you’ve gotten all ready. Can we wrap this up so that we can all get some rest and your team can go do your jobs and locate this guy?”

Reid nodded. “Just one more question, I promise. Ms. Cregg, you said you couldn’t remember the security guard’s name … but if you saw a picture, would you be able to point him out?” At CJ’s nod, he turned on the iPad and pulled up the photos Garcia had sent him of the White House security staff.

It only took her a moment of browsing to point to a photo. “That’s him.”

Danny leaned over to peer at the screen and nodded confirmation. “Yeah, it is.”

Toby was the last to look and nod. “So, now you guys send in the SWAT team to go get him?”

Reid smiled. “Something like that.” He headed for the door, hand all ready on his phone, ostensibly to call in to Quantico. “Thank you all for your time. I’ll make sure Agent Rossi keeps you apprised of our investigation.”

After he left, they all sat in silence for a few moments, CJ and Danny on the bed, hands intertwined, Toby rising to pace the room. Finally CJ said, in a low voice, “Secret Service is guarding the floor, right?”

“Yes,” Toby and Danny answered simultaneously.

“Josh is staying here with Donna?”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon,” Toby replied. “I probably ought to make sure he gets a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”

“Are you staying?” CJ asked Toby. “There are extra rooms down the hall.”

“I was planning on it, yeah, seeing as how the White House is probably still crashed … and if it isn’t now, it will be again shortly.” His phone vibrated and he picked up the call, stepping out into the corridor.

She looked up at Danny. “You’re staying here with me? I mean HERE,” she qualified, gesturing at the bed.

His face softened with a smile and he touched her cheek. “Do you want me to?”

“YES,” she replied fervently. “I’m not going to sleep soundly until this guy is caught … if you’re with me I’ll at least have a chance of getting some rest.”

“Because I’m one more person an assassin would have to get through to get to you?” Danny asked, amused.

“Because you make me feel safe,” she answered, her hand covering his.

“Baby …” Danny leaned in, ready to kiss her, wanting nothing more in the world than to kiss her until he felt her heartbeat twinning his, but pulled back when the door opened, framing Toby.

“The crash has been lifted,” he reported. “But they didn’t find him with the rest of the security guard. Security guard Christopher James is in the wind.”

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting between Rossi, the President, the First Lady, and Leo ... and a hint of things to come.

**Toxicity, Part 6:**

“Danny, I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in,” Rossi said into the phone, exchanging a glance with Leo McGarry. “This man poisoned CJ because he felt he couldn’t have her and didn’t want anyone else to either … there’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to come after you.”

“Oh, I hope he does,” Danny replied, his voice steely. “I can’t wait to get my hands on the bastard.”

“You’re talking about going head to head with someone who carries a gun for a living. That’s not a confrontation you want to be on the end of.”

“Look, I’m not leaving this hospital till CJ does and she’s got round-the-clock protection. If this James guy tries to show up here, he’s going to get a face full of Sig Sauers and three fists across the jaw—one each from me, Josh, and Toby—and whatever punishment CJ can hand out, even if it’s just clocking him with an IV pole.”

Rossi smiled at the image then sobered. “And we’re sending additional agents there now, just to augment the protection the Secret Service is all ready providing. But I don’t want you going up against this guy, Danny. Our agents are trained to handle men like James. You aren’t.”

“You think I can’t handle myself, Dave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, that’s pretty much exactly what you just said.”

“I meant that you aren’t trained to take down a violent stalker. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t handle yourself in a brawl if it came down to it. But if, by a long shot, something should happen, I’d rather see you protect CJ than take down an unsub. CJ should be your priority right now.”

He heard Danny’s voice start to thaw. “She is. She always will be.”

“Good. I’m about to talk to the President and First Lady and Mr. McGarry. There’s a missing puzzle piece here … I still don’t know where Donna fits in. I’ll keep you apprised … as long as this doesn’t end up in the morning Post.”

“Not a word from me,” Danny swore, “though I can’t promise there won’t be a feature piece after this is all over with.”

“Once we’ve got this guy locked away you can write a book about it for all I care.”

He heard the grin in Danny’s voice. “I thought that was your department. Talk to you later, Dave.”

Rossi hung up and turned back around to face Leo. “Danny’s spoiling for a fight.”

“Clearly,” Leo replied. “I don’t blame him one bit.” He adjusted his suit jacket. “Is a fight likely to happen, Agent Rossi?”

“Do I think James will make another move on CJ or possibly one on Danny? Oh, yeah. She’s unfinished business now and he isn’t going to give up trying to get to her. Stalkers are persistent offenders… if they’re foiled the first time they get a chance at their victim, they’ll continue trying.”

“But your agents and Secret Service protection will guarantee her safety.”

“I certainly hope so.” He checked the battery life on his iPad then said, “I’d like to see the President and First Lady now, please.”

Leo nodded and opened the connecting door between his office and the Oval.

Jed Bartlett was pacing around the room when they entered, while Abby sat still on the sofa, hands in her lap, watching her husband. When the two men stepped inside, Bartlett turned immediately and planted his hands on his hips.

“Well, that crash was neither convenient nor helpful considering that our suspect either escaped or was never in the building in the first place. So what the hell are we planning on doing about that?”

“Jed, play nice,” Abby said in a warning tone. She rose and extended her hand to Rossi. “Abigail Bartlett,” she said. “It’s a pleasure.”

“SSA David Rossi. The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She glared daggers at her husband until he strode across the room to extend his hand to Rossi as well. “Agent Rossi, what can we do to help locate this man?”

“Right now, ma’am, that’s the job of our field teams. I’m more interested in what you can do to help me solve some of the unanswered questions:  how he managed to get the ethylene glycol into CJ’s drink unseen and how and why Donna Moss was targeted. So I’d like to go back through what you recall about CJ’s illness and trip to the hospital … with all of you,” he said, including the President and Leo.

“Jed, you saw her before I did,” Abby prompted. “What happened?”

“She came in right after her briefing looking pale and sick as anything. I don’t know how long she’d been looking that way because I didn’t watch her briefing … Leo, did you?”

Leo shook his head. “Not today. It was Toby, I think, but he might have still been closeted with Sam about Abby’s goodwill tour.”

“Either way, she was looking pretty raw. She came in but almost immediately went out for some air because she wasn’t feeling well, and she was barely out the door when she had to run for the walkway to be sick into the bushes. I went to see if Debbie—my secretary,” he said, for Rossi’s benefit, “—had something that might help and sent Toby out to check on her. When I came back outside, she was even worse … dizzy, nauseated, complaining of severe pain in her stomach.  Toby and I thought it might be her appendix rupturing, so I went in and called Abby to come look at her.”

Rossi nodded. “Did she say anything, sir, about what was causing her to feel so ill?”

Bartlett thought for a moment. “She said she thought she ate something that didn’t agree with her, but food poisoning takes hours to develop, so I was immediately sure it wasn’t that. That’s why when Toby suggested appendicitis I called Abby.”

“Ms. Bartlett, can you tell me what happened when you came to examine CJ?”

“I had just walked in when Toby and the Marine Guard carried her in from the porch and laid her out on the floor. She was conscious, able to respond, but obviously in pain.”

Leo nodded in agreement. “She was ghostly pale. I’ve never seen anyone’s complexion literally white. The President and I didn’t see much after that because we wanted to give Abby room to work and Toby space to sit with her.”

“But you stayed in the room?”

“That’s right.”

“Was there anyone else in the room?” Rossi asked. “So far we have the three of you, Toby Zeigler, and CJ herself.”

“The Marine guard,” Bartlett said, “but he moved right back into position after he’d helped bring her in. They aren’t supposed to leave their posts unless relieved of it. Other than that, there wasn’t anyone else.”

“No,” Abby said slowly. “There _were_ others, but I don’t think any of us really noticed them in the heat of the moment. But thinking back on it now, Debbie and Charlie were both at the door …”

“Which they should have been,” Bartlett interjected. “Charlie would have come if there was any commotion in the office whatsoever. So would Debbie.”

Abby waved at her husband impatiently, her eyes narrowed as she thought. “And you’re right, I would have expected that. There was someone else, though, someone behind Charlie and Debbie who was watching. I remember because when she started seizing, I told Toby to shut the door because I didn’t want anyone else seeing her like that.”

Leo jumped in. “You’re right. You told Charlie to go for Danny, told Toby to shut the door, and that was the last thing I heard because I was on the phone with the medical unit. But there wasn’t anyone else who was supposed to be in the office right then other than Charlie and Debbie. His schedule was clear,” he said, jerking his head at the President.

“So who would have been—or, more to the point, could have been-- loitering in the office area who wouldn’t have seemed out of place?” Abby asked rhetorically, though Rossi could tell from the look on her face that she all ready knew the answer.

“If there was a medical emergency, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for security to be there,” Leo said grimly. “They’ve been trained to assist the WHMU in an emergency and clear the corridors for stretchers to get in and out as quickly as possible. They also know the quickest routes to get ambulances on and off the grounds. This guy’s screw-up—if any of us had taken the time to note it—was that he got there before he would have had any reason to be.

The President balled his fists. “So the bastard was there to, what, watch the effect his witch’s brew would have on her?”

“Yes,” Rossi replied. “It’s not uncommon for a stalker to want to watch how the victim receives their attentions, whether that means watching them while they read letters or email, accept a flower delivery, or discover some sort of gift that’s been left for them. If his desire for CJ turned into anger when he learned about her relationship with Danny, it would certainly stand to reason that he would attempt to punish her … and want to watch her feel the effects of that punishment.” 

“So where the hell does Donna fit in to this if this man’s actions were an attempt to get to CJ?” Leo asked the $50,000 question.

“Donna was a diversion,” Rossi said bluntly. “She was a cheat to get us looking in another direction. If someone else fell ill soon after CJ did, we’d spend time looking at product tampering as the cause or investigating the people CJ and Donna had in common rather than zeroing in on someone relating solely to CJ. I hate to say it … and god knows she’s going to hate to hear it given what she’s been through … but Donna was, in a sense, collateral damage. ”

Leo’s fists clenched and he stood up in order to stride angrily around the room. “How do we catch this guy?” he demanded. “He wasn’t here when the crash went down. Ron Butterfield checked the record-- James signed in this morning but he never signed out. So either he’s hiding somewhere on the grounds …”

“Or he’s gone to make a move on CJ at the hospital,” Bartlett finished, his face grim. “He isn’t going to just leave her alone, is he?”

“No,” Rossi finally said. “He isn’t. He’ll make a move … he’s too fixated not to. That’s why there’s all ready a SWAT team at GW. If Secret Service doesn’t take him down, we will.”

Abbey looked as if she were caught somewhere between panic and fright. “CJ’s been warned? Danny and Toby, too?”

“They all know,” Rossi assured her. “There are double the Secret Service agents on the floor now. James is going to have to be really damn good to actually get to her. The best outcome is that he has a run-in with either my guys or yours and he’s taken down with as little fight as possible.”

“And the worst outcome doesn’t bear discussing,” Bartlett said grimly. “Leo, call Ron back in. I want to know minute by minute what’s happening at GW.”

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh reacts to the news that Donna was collateral damage ... Prentiss and Rossi discuss the stalker and make preparations to protect the White House staffers inside the hospital.

CHAPTER 7:

Danny knocked quietly on the door to Donna’s room in case she was asleep. Judging from the sounds of the TV inside, though, someone was awake, so his caution was probably unwarranted. He knocked a second time then poked his head in. Josh and Donna were both awake and watching a Netflix movie. Josh, seated next to Donna’s bed, had one hand on the covers, close to but not quite touching hers. Donna, like CJ, was hooked into an IV drip by tubes that snaked out of her arm. Her thin face was pale and looked tired but her smile was warm when she turned it on Danny.

“Hi, Danny,” she greeted. She impatiently tapped Josh on the arm to get his attention. “Josh, say hi.”

Josh started a little and turned toward the door. “Oh, hey, Danny. Sorry. This movie’s just so …” He trailed off and shrugged, apparently at a loss for how to describe what was currently playing on the flat-screen TV.

Danny peered at the screen and snorted when he recognized Samuel L. Jackson using hairspray and a lighter to set fire to a king cobra. “Is that _Snakes on a Plane_? Seriously, Josh? You couldn’t let her choose the movie?”

“This WAS her choice,” Josh said drily. “God only knows why.”

“It’s Samuel L. Jackson fighting off a cargo-load of poisonous snakes planted by the mob. How is that anything other than awesome?” Donna asked with all appearances of sincerity. “Oh, rewind it! I want to see him set that one on fire again!”

Danny laughed as Josh obligingly handed her the remote. “I’m going to borrow Josh for a minute. Do you need anything?”

“Some ice cream,” Donna replied, offering both men big puppy dog eyes.

“The woman who threw up the lining of her stomach wants ice cream.” Josh grinned wearily. “What kind?”

“Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food.”

“Cause that won’t make you sick or anything,” Josh chided mildly. He squeezed her hand. “I’ll send someone for it. Be right back.”

Once in the hall he headed for the nurse’s station phone to request the ice cream then returned to Danny who was leaning against the wall, stretching his sore back.

“God, this has been one hell of a day,” Josh complained. “What’s up, Danny?”

“Now that the FBI has a better handle on who we’re dealing with, I wanted to bring you up to date on where we currently stand.”

He gave Josh almost all of the details that they had pieced together, leaving out one crucial piece until Josh finally asked for it: “So where does Donna fit into this? I’m getting a nasty feeling I’m not going to like the answer.”

“No,” Danny admitted. “You’re not.”

“She had nothing to do with it, did she?” Josh demanded, all ready starting to seethe. “She was just a damn diversion to keep us on our toes.”

The look on Danny’s face was enough confirmation.

“How the hell am I supposed to tell her that?” Josh exploded. “‘Hey, Donna, here’s your ice cream, and by the way this whole hospital thing was just really bad luck. Sucks to be you. So sorry.’”

“Not the way I’d go about it,” Danny replied, trying for levity.

“She. Could. Have. Died!” Josh roared, stabbing the air for emphasis with his forefinger. “And for what? Some yokel with the hots for CJ? Why didn’t someone report this guy back when he started going ‘single white psycho’?”

“No one could have known …”

“You and CJ! You knew! She knew he was a creeper but instead she decided to be macho in the face of a stalker AGAIN. That’s twice now, for anyone keeping score.”

“Josh, look …”

“No, YOU look! My assistant …” Danny had the distinct impression he’d been about to say ‘girlfriend’—“is in the hospital because of some nut …”

“And so is mine!” Danny yelled, finally losing his temper. “So is mine, Josh, and if you think this guilt trip from you is anything compared to the one I’m giving myself, think again! I KNOW I should have said something. I wish to god I had! But I didn’t and no amount of second-guessing is going to undo what’s happened. So let’s stop playing the goddam blame game and deal with the fact that this asshole is probably going to make a run at CJ before this is over.”

Josh stared at him, breathing hard. “Make a run at CJ?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “He’s an obsessive psychopathic stalker who’s pissed off because I’ve got a relationship with her that he doesn’t. He’s going to try to kill her … and probably me, too.”

Josh’s eyes were saucer-wide. “And Donna?”

“Rossi thinks he’ll leave Donna alone. She isn’t the one he wants. The only thing Donna did was drink the wrong latte at the wrong time.”

“So what do we do?”

“Secret Service is guarding this floor … hell, they’re guarding the whole damn building. The FBI has SWAT teams inside and outside looking for him. They just have to wait for him to make a move.”

“We sit and wait for the asshole to come to us? Can’t the FBI bust into his apartment or use a GPS tracker or something to find him?” Josh asked helplessly.

“You watch too much TV,” Danny said drily. “That’s not how it works. According to Rossi, all we can do now is wait.”

***

Emily Prentiss frowned and took a look at the pictures Garcia had sent to her iPad.

“Rossi,” she called, adjusting her Kevlar vest and checking the placement of her gun. “Come take a look at this.”

Rossi made his way past two unsmiling Secret Service agents, buckling the straps on his vest. “What’s up?”

“These are pictures from Christopher James’ apartment. Hotch and Morgan went over to take a look.” She held the iPad for him as he swiped a finger over the screen to examine the photos. “He looks like a pretty typical loner—no pictures of family or friends.”

“Any of CJ?”

“You mean did they find the creepy stalker shrine?” She grinned at his raised eyebrow. “Yeah, actually, they did. Keep swiping till you hit it.”

Rossi stopped on the photo of the back of the security guard’s bedroom door. Photos from newspaper articles and magazine features competed with screen captures and surreptitious cell phone photos of CJ for every available inch of space.

“Clever,” he remarked. “No one would know it’s there unless they were looking for it. If he keeps the door open, all the photos face the wall.”

Prentiss blanched. “I hate the shrines. They’re disturbing.”

“We’ve seen worse,” Rossi reminded her. “At least there’s no hair, clothing, half-eaten food, or personal products.”

“True,” she conceded. “So, this guy doesn’t seem to do much other than work. He’s got an inordinate amount of DVDs and books in his living room, which indicates to me that he’s someone who doesn’t socialize much. He’s got a lot of workout equipment, including high-end running shoes. No pets. No family photos. No momentos. Morgan’s got his computer and is going through it with Garcia. So far, we’ve seen no indicators of where he might go if he’s on the run.”

“We need to assess his state of mind. Is he irrational enough to think that he can actually get anywhere near this hospital? He’ll know that Secret Service is watching at the very least … and if he managed to get off the grounds before or during the crash, he’ll know the FBI is going to be watching for him, too.”

“He’s an organized offender,” Prentiss replied. “It took careful planning to carry out the attack. The only mistake he made so far was the one Abigail Bartlett pointed out … he was prowling the offices inside the West Wing BEFORE CJ collapsed, probably because he was eager to see what his handiwork was going to do to her. Now, the internal security cameras caught him walking out of the Oval with the gurney, clearing the way for the WHMU staff while they tended to CJ, exactly as he would have been expected to in an emergency. The cameras lost him, though, at the end of the loading bay where the ambulance came in. We don’t know if he got in the ambulance or stayed on the grounds. But he DOES know where she’s at, he’ll very likely know the security precautions used for the security floor, and while he’ll definitely try to get at her again, I don’t think he’s going to try to storm in through a SWAT team.”

Rossi nodded. “Agreed. Reid’s in the security office with some of the guys from Secret Service, keeping an eye on the internal cameras. Let’s walk the perimeter, establish where the more subtle ingress and egress points are—basement windows, disused rooms, drain pipes. This section of the hospital’s older than the others with a lot more windows and access points.”

“There’s also construction going on over there.” Prentiss pointed in the direction of New Hampshire Avenue. “It makes a good place to lie low if he’s planning on waiting till nightfall to make a move. I’ll have some of our guys go over, take a look.” She began rapidly texting instructions.

“Secret Service is covering the 23rd Street entrances. We’ve got guys on Washington Circle and at the ER entrance. I think we’re covered in all directions. If he’s going to move, we’re going to see him.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the endgame ... The FBI team locks down GW once they figure out how a wanted fugitive can make his way inside a heavily guarded building unseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The sport of free-running came to my attention when Seanan Maguire used it in her “InCryptid” series of novels as the sport of choice for her heroine, Verity Price. Watch a YouTube video of free-runners sometime ... it’s AMAZING!

Rossi’s cell rang as he and Prentiss were walking the perimeter. It was Reid.

“Guys, Morgan and Garcia just found something on Chris James’ computer that may be relevant.”

Rossi pulled on Prentiss’s arm and pointed to the phone. She moved closer to listen as Rossi placed the call on speaker.

“He’s got a lot of activity on sites for a sport called “free running.” It’s formally known as “parkour” but people who practice it don’t generally call it that. It’s all about running, but running with a freedom of movement that distance runners wouldn’t dream of utilizing. Freerunners don’t run a set course … they use any surface available to run, jump, vault, flip, balance, or leap using their momentum to carry them. It’s a combination of running and gymnastics, almost. Morgan and Garcia were watching videos of it on the sites on James’ computer … Garcia commented that if ninjas took up a sport, it would be freerunning.”

“I think being a ninja is a sport,” Rossi replied sardonically. “Reid, what are you saying?”

“Free-runners utilize all surfaces that are available to them to get around and, for some people who free-run in big cities, that includes fire escapes, chimneys, cornices, and roofs of buildings. If Chris James is an urban free-runner, you need to be keeping an eye on the roof-tops as well.”

Both Rossi and Prentiss’s glances shot to the roof lines around GW. “God, the way this city shoehorns in its buildings, he wouldn’t have any trouble getting from one place to another via the roof.”

“And he’s got the distinct advantage of KNOWING he’s going to go unseen … who the hell looks UP in broad daylight?” Rossi replied. “Thanks, Reid. We’ll get teams on the roof.”

Prentiss cursed ripely. “He could all ready be in the building.” She looked around for the nearest Secret Service agent. “We need to alert them but we need to keep it off the radio in case he’s tuning in to the secure bands.”

Rossi nodded. “You make contact with Ron Butterfield and the agents on site. Have them start a search of the building, make sure he isn’t hiding in the attics, storage rooms, or ductwork.”

Prentiss nodded, face grimly set. “And you?”

“I’m heading up to warn Danny.”

***

CJ couldn’t get settled until she’d seen Donna. She was feeling so guilt-ridden and upset that she knew it would be impossible to sleep, despite her fatigue, until she’d seen her friend and apologized for involving her in the day’s horrific mess. Toby, demonstrating his rather frightening capacity for reading her like a book, said, “I’ll walk you down to see her while Danny meets with Secret Service.”

She laughed a little and brushed her hair away from her face. “It’s creepy when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Read my mind.”

“You’ve never been hard to read,” he replied, prompting a frown from CJ.

“I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“You don’t have to feel anything about it … it’s a fact. I can read you better than I can read myself.” He extended a hand to help her from the hospital bed. “You want a wheelchair?”

“God, no.” She rolled her eyes. “I want to walk down the hall like a normal human being.”

“You look shaky,” Toby observed. “So if you’re refusing a wheelchair, I want you holding on to me. Got it?”

CJ cast him a glance that was half amused and half annoyed. “Have you always been this damn bossy?”

“Yes.” He tucked her hand inside his elbow and they started down the hall together. “If you start feeling weak in the knees, tell me.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, gritting her teeth, both at the overprotectiveness and at the fact that, dammit all, her knees WERE weak and, according to her doctor, would be for several days until the poison had worked its way out of her system entirely.

It was a slow walk to Donna’s room but Toby was incredibly patient, letting her move at her own pace, making an occasional pointed barb to take her mind off how badly her legs were shaking. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, she was holding Toby’s arm tighter than she wanted to be (and, doubtless, tighter than he was comfortable with) but feeling triumphant that she’d managed the walk at all.

She knocked lightly on the door and the cheery “come in” went a long way in reassuring her. Toby helped her into a chair by Donna’s bed, ushered Josh out of the room, and shut the door behind the two women.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” Josh said, blinking at Tony. “I thought you’d have gone home hours ago.”

“With CJ still here? Hell, no.”

“What is it with you two anyway?” Josh asked, crossing to the kitchen area and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Is it, like, a brother/sister thing, a best friends thing, a former lovers thing, a wannabe lovers thing? I mean, you spend the bulk of your time hating the entire world and the only person who’s immune to that is CJ. What makes her so special?”

Toby gave Josh a “boy, are YOU stupid” look. “If you have to ask, you will never have a clue.” He glanced up when loud footfalls came hurrying across the floor, noting the presence of not just Danny but of Ron Butterfield, David Rossi, and teams of FBI agents in Kevlar with long-handled mirrors, snake-cameras, and ladders. “What’s going on?”

“We need to do a sweep of the ceilings and ductwork on this floor,” Butterfield said grimly. “Agent Rossi just alerted us to the possibility that our suspect may come in from the roof.”

“You don’t have a team up there all ready?” Toby barked, jumping up. “Jesus, talk about the Keystone Kops!”

“We had no earlier indications that this suspect might try to enter the building in that manner,” Butterfield said, stiffly. “We’ll need Ms. Cregg, Ms. Moss, and all of you locked down in one room while we conduct the search.”

“Look, if this guy’s coming after CJ then I don’t want to be in the same room with her,” Josh burst out, his eyes wild. “No offense but I’m not … I didn’t sign up for this. And I’m not putting Donna in that kind of danger again. No way.”

Danny and Toby both shot him glares so hateful that he might have thought twice about being in the same room with _them_ had he not been so wholly consumed with worry for Donna. Even Butterfield winced at Josh’s undisguised rudeness but replied smoothly, “We can place you in separate rooms. Mr. Lyman, please go with Agent Rossi—he and his team will secure Ms. Moss’s room. You’ll need to remain there until we give you an all-clear, understood?”

Josh very nearly sprinted off down the hallway, Rossi hard on his heels, Danny right behind them to collect CJ. Toby, fuming, began to pace as Butterfield listened to his earpiece and made several notes in his Blackberry.

“Guys, what the hell--” CJ protested as Danny hurried her out into the hall. “What’s going on?”

“We need to clear and secure all of the rooms on this floor, Ms. Cregg,” Butterfield replied.

“It’s the damn security floor, how much more secure can it possibly be?”

“They want to check out the ceiling tiles, ductwork, and any other place where Chris James might be hiding,” Danny replied. “Apparently they didn’t allow for the possibility that he might have come in through the roof.”

CJ’s eyes immediately flew to the ceiling tiles and then back to Ron Butterfield’s unsmiling face. “Someone really fell down on the job, didn’t they?” she asked flatly.

“Yes, ma’am, someone did,” he replied, gesturing her toward her room. “A SWAT team is finishing your room. You’ll be under lockdown until we can assure the safety of the entire building.”

CJ swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry, and asked, “Can someone get me some water, please, before we’re locked in here?”

“I’ve got it,” Toby replied, moving swiftly toward the fridge. “You and Danny get inside.”

Agent Prentiss was still in CJ’s room, up on a ladder and using long-handled mirrors to check the ductwork above the ceiling tiles. “Clear!” she called down to the agent bracing the ladder from the bottom. She turned her attention to another agent in the corner of the room peering at the LCD screen on the handle of a wireless snake camera. “How’s it looking?”

“Clear all the way across.”

“Good.” Prentiss hopped down and met CJ’s eyes. “Everything’s fine, Ms. Cregg.”

“Thank you,” CJ said through numb lips. “Do you have some new evidence to suggest he might have good reason to use the roof as an entry point?”

Prentiss nodded. “He practices a sport called free-running, where any surface that CAN be run on IS run on. Urban free-runners who like a challenge will often use rooftops to get from place to place inside a city, allowing them to cover great distances. There were a lot of free-running websites on Chris James’ computer … add to that top-of-the-line running shoes and rappelling equipment in his apartment and we made an educated guess as to how he might enter a building filled with FBI and Secret Service agents.”

Danny, standing protectively close to CJ, squeezed her shoulders. “Has he been sighted or is this all a series of precautions?”

“Mainly precautions,” Prentiss replied. “But precautions we should have taken the moment we realized he’d managed to circumvent the crash at the White House.”

“And you’ll let us know as soon as the building is clear?” Danny continued.

“We’ll let you know, Mr. Concannon, absolutely.” She gave CJ a sympathetic smile. “I know this is frightening, Ms. Cregg. But as far as we’re aware, he isn’t on the grounds. He may even be out of the District by now. The best thing you can do until you get word from us is to try to rest.”

Toby entered the room with three bottles of water, his go-bag slung over his shoulder, and snorted derisively when he caught the end of Prentiss’ statement.

“Yeah, that’ll happen. Look, can you guys please just clear the whole floor as quickly as you can so we can all stop breathing down each other’s necks? They need to rest, I’ve got to beat the hell out of Josh, and then I’d like to watch CSPAN so I can see just how badly Sam is screwing up the briefings.”

“We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Ziegler,” Prentiss replied. “We’ll have a room available for your use shortly. In the mean time, it’s better if you all stay together and out of the way so we can work unimpeded.” She stepped into the hallway. “There are two agents outside these doors. Knock if you need anything.”

The door shut behind Prentiss, leaving the three of them alone.

“Why do you need to beat the hell out of Josh?” CJ asked Toby.

“It’s Josh. When DON’T I need to beat the hell out of him?” Toby gestured toward the bed. “You probably ought to sit down again, don’t you think?”

“Because I’m a frail and fragile flower?” she asked wryly, although she did move to perch on the edge of the bed because her legs were, again, trembling from the effort of standing.

“Are you complaining that I’m taking an active interest in your health and well-being?” He handed her the bottle of water she’d requested. “Look, I’m going over here …” He pointed to the couch under the TV, “to be out of your way.”

“What makes you think you’re in my way?”

“Because is two is company and three is a crowd.”

Danny laughed. “Unless you foresee this turning into some kind of bad porn movie which, I assure you, it isn’t, all the two of us are going to do is relax on the bed and try to get some rest, something it wouldn’t kill you to do either.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take it under advisement.” He pointed at the TV. “Can I turn on CSPAN?”

“Because you want to see me on TV?” CJ asked. “Press Secretary Poisoned … film at eleven?”

“Because I want to see whether the Middle East has blown itself to pieces in the last 12 hours.”

“Go right ahead,” CJ replied.

They spent the next hour in a strange sort of suspended animation-- CJ and Danny on the bed, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder and Toby on the couch, head back on the cushions, all of them caught somewhere between sleeping and waking.

At 10pm, a knock on the door brought the report that the security floor had been swept and cleared. Toby stumbled to his feet and headed to his room next door where he blearily kicked off his shoes and pulled off his button down shirt. He fell asleep on top of the covers, still in his dark work trousers and a white undershirt, oblivious to the ceiling creaking above him as Christopher James crawled through the HVAC tunnels and into position above CJ and Danny’s room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown between CJ and her stalker.

CJ woke in darkness from a nightmare she could barely recall. The TV screen had gone dark—possibly Angeline, the night nurse, had come in and turned it off once the two of them had fallen asleep. Because the staff wanted to assure CJ of her privacy, the door was shut so there was no light from the hallway.

Next to her, Danny was asleep, his deep even breathing a comfort in the darkness. She reached over and laid a hand on his back, reassured by its steady rise and fall. He turned over onto his side and murmured sleepily, “you okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” she murmured back. “I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Come here.” He laid a hand on her hip and tugged her closer. She willingly moved into the warmth of his arms and spooned herself up against him. He pressed his lips against her temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair.

They were starting to drift back off when the beep of a phone registering a text message brought them both back to awareness. Danny fumbled for the bedside table where his Blackberry was lying and tapped a key, lighting the screen.

“Must be yours,” he said. “I got nothing.”

CJ met his gaze with eyes that looked distinctly panicky. “I don’t have my phone with me, Danny,” she said in a low voice. “It’s still in my office.”

Her gaze immediately went to the ceiling and Danny looked up with her. “No way,” he replied, voice pitched low. “Couldn’t be.”

The beep came again and both stared up with wide eyes. “Shit,” CJ whispered, adrenaline coursing through her. She pushed the blankets to one side and started to slide out of bed behind Danny, who was all ready on his feet and pulling on his pants. Danny took her arm to help her, then raised a finger to his lips, and, holding tightly to her, began to pad very quietly, barefoot, toward the door.

The ceiling tile on the opposite side of the room buckled and caved in as Chris James pushed down through it, landing on his feet as lithely as a cat.

CJ screamed in shock and terror and pulled Danny toward the door, fumbling with the knob before getting it to catch. The two tumbled into the hallway, Secret Service and FBI agents dashing toward them at the sound of her scream. Toby came stumbling out of his room, rumpled, wild-eyed. Josh and Donna did the same at the end of the hall.

“In there, he’s in there!” CJ panted, backing quickly away from the room toward god only knew where—it wasn’t as though there was anyplace that felt safe. “He came out of the ceiling!”

A phalanx of agents stormed into the room … but then began backing slowly out, guns still drawn and pointed, as Chris James sauntered out of the room, gun trained at the middle of the mob of agents. He wore the vest of C-4 explosives as if it were a badge of honor.

“Claudia Jean Cregg,” he said, voice just as pleasant as if they were discussing the weather. “It took me awhile but I think I finally got you to notice me.” He gave her a smile that was nearly a leer. “You ARE noticing me, I sincerely hope.”

“Yes,” CJ replied, fighting to keep her voice level. “I certainly am.”

“Good.” He took a step forward and then another, smirking a little as the mob of agents fell back. He continued addressing CJ as if she were the only person in the room. “I was hoping for a better outcome for today … I was going to make sure that you’d not only notice me but be grateful to me, too, for saving your life.”

“Saving my life?” CJ stared at him incredulously. “You nearly killed me!”

“Oh, I know. I went a little heavy handed on the ethylene glycol. My mistake.” He stepped closer to CJ, gun never wavering, and her heart hammered. “The idea was to find you in your office, sick, reeling, and call the WHMU. I was planning on lifting you onto the gurney myself, holding your hand as they rushed you to the hospital, watching over you as they treated you, standing by your side until you were well enough to thank me for saving you. But then you had to go and nobly meet with the President instead of just staying put. Why the hell couldn’t you JUST STAY PUT?”

“I’ve never been good at following a script,” CJ replied, anger starting to course through her. She could hear the sarcastic tone in her voice and wondered where the hell it was coming from. Not the best idea to sass a psychopath with a gun, Claudia Jean. “Look, let these people go, okay? You’ve all ready said this is about you and me. Leave everyone else out of it.”

“Oh, no. They’re ALL a part of it now.” James scowled and jerked the gun toward Toby. “You. Over here with them.”

He gestured for Toby to move toward CJ and Danny, fixing the gun barrel on the three of them.

“Toby here fucked up my plans, too. He just had to rush onto the scene like some ineffectual nurse and hold her while Ms. Bartlett played doctor. If he hadn’t been following her around like he always does, trying to find some excuse to talk to her, I’d have been the one Bartlett asked to stay with her while he called up his wife. I was right there in the outer office, waiting.” James cut a glance over toward Danny. “You’d better keep an eye on him, man, make sure he doesn’t steal Claudia Jean away from you … he’s a dark horse, this guy.”

He looked around at all of the agents surrounding him and laughed. “You guys getting this? Secret Service, you taking notes? Maybe on how to screen your applicants a bit better next time? FBI, you getting a good profile of me? I know you were in my apartment all ready. I’m sure you found plenty to titillate and excite you.” His eyes lit on Dave Rossi. “Man, they called in the big guns, didn’t they? You gonna feature me in your next book, Dave? I’d make a great chapter.”

James focused his attention back on CJ. Danny had a firm, protective grip on her, which she was glad of because she was shaking all over. She wondered for a brief moment if she was about to have another seizure.

“Well, Claudia Jean, you’re going to have to make a choice here … and you look as though you’ll need to make it fast since I get the feeling you’re going to need to sit down at some point.” He frowned again, feigning concern. “I REALLY put way too much in your drink, didn’t I? Should have read the warning label.” He peered closely at her. “You want to get everyone out of here in one piece, don’t you?”

“Yes,” CJ replied, her voice strong and sure. She even stepped forward, ignoring Danny’s attempt to pull her back toward him.

“Because you know I have enough C-4 on me to blow up this entire wing and take you and everyone else along with me.”

“I wasn’t aware before but I am now.”

“Sassy,” James laughed, leering. “So, CJ, my darling little whore who can’t seem to get enough of Daniel Concannon or Tobias Ziegler …” He pointed the gun at each man as he said their name. “Choose which one I’m going to shoot.”

“There’s no way in hell,” CJ replied immediately.

“So you’d blow up this hospital, take everyone out in a blaze of glory, because you can’t choose which of your men I’m going to shoot?” James cocked his gun and pointed it at CJ. “Is that REALLY the answer you want to give?”

“CJ, choose,” Toby said firmly. “Don’t let him take this building down. Choose.”

“Are you volunteering?” James asked with a cold laugh.

“If it means you end it here and now, yeah, I’m volunteering,” Toby said.

“Toby, don’t you DARE!” CJ yelled, panic slamming into her like a bulldozer. She spun on James. “That’s not my choice!”

“So it’s Newsprint Boy then?” James asked, sneering. “He’ll be taking the martyr’s bullet?”

“If it means you let them all walk out of here safely including CJ, yeah, I’ll take that bullet,” Danny replied coolly. “We’re in a hospital. There’s a trauma surgeon on hand. I bet they can pull me through.”

“Not unless they can repair a shattered skull they won’t. Believe me, if I shoot you, there will be no coming back from it.”

“No, not Danny either. Not either of them,” CJ hissed. “They don’t have anything to do with it, okay, this is about us.”

James laughed. “There is no us, Claudia Jean, you made that abundantly clear.” He swung the gun from Danny to Toby and back again. “Which one?”

“Neither,” CJ said firmly.

“Which one?” he asked again. “Answer or I’ll shoot them both.”

“You’ll have to shoot me before you hurt either of them,” she said, staring directly into his eyes and seeing, not madness, but clear, hard, rage. “You’re mad at me, you take it out on me.”

There was a horrible tense moment when she was sure, absolutely positive, that he was going to pull the trigger as she had just suggested, but then:

“Look, Chris, you have got to end this,” Prentiss said firmly, stepping into James’ line of fire. “What do you think is going to happen here? You think shooting either of them is going to get you CJ?”

“I don’t give a DAMN about CJ,” James snapped. “She’s a goddamn whore who’d choose a pansy-ass reporter or a spineless speechwriter over me.”

“Oh, so this is about you now, is it?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow. “This is about strong, virile you and how the alpha female threw you over.”

“Alpha female, my ass. She’s the alpha bitch. Looking down her nose, too good to talk to anyone who isn’t from the West Wing, raising her skirt for anyone who is. She’s going to wish she’d taken me instead of both of them.”

As Prentiss continued talking to James, she very slowly inched her weight from one foot to the other, moving bare millimeters at a time in a slow pivot so that James was unconsciously tracking her with the gun, trying to get CJ out of his peripheral vision so she could move to safety.

Either James became aware of what she was doing, or he was hyperaware of CJ tensing, trying to gather the momentum to duck behind the sofa. He turned with a roar and lunged for her.

CJ never knew how she managed to do it but she threw a punch that connected with his jaw, knocking him off balance long enough for Prentiss to wrestle the gun out of his hand and the agents to swarm in to cuff him.

The world went grey at the edges and she had a moment where she wondered if she was going to pass out, but she hung on to consciousness.

Then Danny was there, grabbing her up in a desperately hard hug, burying his face in her hair.

“It’s over,” Danny whispered. “It’s over, baby, we’re okay.” He pushed back for a moment to study her face. “Jesus, CJ, you are _fierce_! I can’t believe you practically dared him to shoot you.” He pulled her up against him again and his arms were shaking violently as they clung to her. “Christ, don’t EVER do that again!”

“Never again,” she promised shakily, leaning her head on his shoulder and trying to steady herself.

After a moment she looked up, wanting—needing!—to see Toby and found him leaning on the back of the couch as if he weren’t sure his legs would hold him, wiping at his face with his hands to clear the tears from his eyes.

She moved to her best friend and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “ _I’m_ okay.”

“I thought I was about to lose you,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “And I couldn’t bear it.”

“I know.” She laid a hand on his cheek, wiped at the tears. “But we’re both here. We’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Toby blew out a long, shaky breath and looked at Danny. “You okay?”

“More or less.” Danny came over and gave Toby’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “You?”

“Less, I think, rather than more but, what the hell, still in one piece, right?” He looked down the hall to see Josh and Donna fighting through a group of agents to get to them.

The second intense round of hugging and tears was interrupted by both FBI and Secret Service agents wanting to debrief them all, both as witnesses and as participants. CJ was starting to feel positively ill at the idea of yet another round of interviews when Dave Rossi stepped up and said to his agents, kindly but firmly, “They’re going to get some sleep before they do any more talking to anyone, okay, guys? Thanks.”

Danny heaved a sigh. “Thanks, Dave.”

“Don’t mention it,” the older man said with a smile. “Tomorrow, though, you’re back on the hook.”

“After I’ve had at least 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’ll answer any question you want.” He rose to his feet and helped CJ stand. “I’m glad your team was on this.”

“I don’t know how much help we were, frankly, but it’s always good to see one less perp on the streets. I’ll see you tomorrow for a debrief.”

It took the better part of an hour but finally the security floor was quiet. CJ, understandably, didn’t want to sleep in the room where the attack occurred, so the staff, helpful as always, moved her to the third of the five security suites on the floor. Josh and Donna retired to their respective rooms. Toby accepted a Xanax to help him sleep and, looking particularly punch drunk, allowed CJ to walk him to his room before pressing a kiss to her forehead and dropping onto the bed where he fell asleep almost instantly.

Finally it was just CJ and Danny. At the urging of the nurses, CJ, too, accepted a Xanax and was starting to feel pleasantly lightheaded by the time she climbed into bed. Danny stretched out beside her and laid a hand on her forehead, stroking her hair back.

“I was pretty bad-ass, wasn’t I?” she murmured, reaching for Danny’s free hand. “You should write a story about me.”

“I think I’d be just a little bit biased,” he replied, chuckling.

“You didn’t think I was bad-ass?” she asked, blinking fuzzily at him.

“I thought you were amazing.” He squeezed her hand . “But then I always thought that.”

“You were too,” CJ said, right on the edge of sleep. “Amazing. To me. Today. Being here. I think I kind of love you for it.”

Danny leaned down and kissed her sweetly, slowly. “I don’t think I kind of love you, too. I know it.”

CJ let sleep sweep her away on the tide of the most welcome words she’d heard all day.

 


	10. EPILOGUE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened at the White House a week later.

**EPILOGUE:**

The Mural Room and the Roosevelt Room wouldn’t reasonably accommodate all the people who wanted to welcome CJ and Donna back, so the President and First Lady decided to hold their homecoming party in the State Dining Room.

A week after the attacks that had incapacitated both women, they were finally back at work. CJ insisted she could have gone back shortly after being released from the hospital, but the combined insistence of Toby, Danny, Leo, Abby Bartlett, and the President himself finally convinced her that that was a battle she was most certainly not going to win. She had convalesced at home for another four days—and spent most of it on the speaker phone with Leo and Toby—before arriving at the White House full of energy and vigor that morning, hesitating only a little when she reached for the urn to pour herself a cup of coffee.

She hesitated again now while reaching for a champagne flute and wondered idly if she’d be this nervous around beverages she hadn’t prepared for the rest of her life. Leo, who had noted her pause in retrieving the glass, said, “I just watched them pop the cork. It’s fresh from the bottle which is fresh from France.”

CJ smiled sardonically. “Interesting manifestation of PTSD, huh?”

Leo patted her back. “If I’d gone through what you had, I’d be worried too.”

“Worried about what?” Josh asked, joining the two of them and reaching for a champagne flute.

“Poisoned beverages,” CJ replied.

“Yeah.” Josh’s face darkened. “I think Donna’s going through the same thing. The Starbucks junkie had exactly zero grande mocha Frappucinos with extra whipped cream today … that’s a sure sign of the apocalypse right there.”

Leo patted CJ’s shoulder again. “I’ll see you later, kid. Josh.”

“Hey, listen.” Josh glanced around, looking, presumably for Toby or Danny, then said, “I wanted to say … I’m sorry for not, you know, being there. At the hospital. I got a little too wrapped up …”

CJ shook her head, brushing it aside. “Donna needed you.”

“Yeah, she did. But you needed me, too … or I assume you did. Maybe you didn’t for all I know. I just …” He blew out a breath. “Toby was ready to kill me, practically.” He winced. “Okay, that’s not the best choice of words. Toby nearly put a fist in my face because I was being a jerk. I said some things that I’d rather not repeat but I’m making a blanket apology for them anyway. And he pointed out that I never even came down the hall to check on you and … I didn’t even think about that because I was so caught up with …”

His eyes drifted across the room to Donna and CJ saw the fierce love and devotion in them.

“And that makes me feel like even more of a jerk,” Josh continued, building up a head of steam, “because you’re like a sister to me and I didn’t …”

“Josh,” CJ said, amused, laying a finger on his lips. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not …”

“Shut it, Babbling Betsy. It’s okay if I say it’s okay. And it is. I understand. You don’t have to apologize to me for being devoted to her any more than Toby should have to apologize to you for being devoted to me. Did HE walk his way down there to see Donna?”

Josh thought about it then indignantly replied, “No! No, he did NOT. That little …”

“Okay, yes, that’s my point. So neither of you needs to be mad. Everyone goes a little crazy when the people we love are in pain. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Josh gave her a crooked smile. “Okay, well … store that apology for another time then … maybe the next time I say something stupid in front of the press.” He jerked his head at the knot of reporters, members of CJ’s press corps who had been invited to eagerly welcome her back to the fold. “They missed you.”

CJ grinned. “Can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

“Yeah, it is,” Josh said, slinging an arm around her shoulder, finally comfortable enough now that he had apologized to be brotherly with her again. “And they’re all going to love you even more now because Sam and Toby truly SUCK at briefings.”

The burst of laughter from CJ’s throat was so genuine and happy that she startled herself. Grinning at Josh, she said, “Guess I’d better go soak up the adoration,” and sauntered toward the group of reporters who parted like the Red Sea and then swallowed her whole, hugging, laughing, and warmly greeting her.

As she was extricating herself from what was fast becoming an unruly mob, she spotted agents Prentiss, Rossi, and Reid in the doorway, looking slightly lost.

“Hi,” CJ called, walking over to them. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Turn down an invite to the most exclusive party in town,” Rossi exclaimed, eyes twinkling. “Never happen.” He gave her a warm smile. “You look as though you’re feeling better.”

“Much better,” she replied. “Still not sure I’m going to drink diet soda ever again …”

“The odds of ethylene glycol poisoning occurring a second time are staggering low …” Reid started to say but, at an elbow in the ribs from Prentiss, subsided with “ … but I’m sure you’re all ready aware of that and don’t need to hear it from me.”

CJ smiled. “It’s nice to have statistics on my side. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the President.”

The party continued for the better part of the next two hours with people drifting over one at a time to wish CJ and Donna well and tell them how happy they were to see them recovered. Donna caught up with CJ in a lull between well-wishers and latched onto her friend’s arm.

“Am I going to sound like a total wuss if I say that I need to sit down?”

“You and me both,” CJ replied, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s grab chairs and hope it doesn’t attract the attention of every overprotective male in the room.”

Sure enough, Danny and Josh both made a bee-line for CJ and Donna once they were settled, but Donna impatiently waved them both away and leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to CJ, “If Josh doesn’t stop fluttering around, I told him I’m going to start calling him Nightingale.”

“As in Florence or the helicopter?” CJ asked, laughing.

“Either!” Donna smiled. “But it’s nice to know he cares.” She gave CJ a sly sideways smirk. “And it’s REALLY nice to see a certain reporter at your beck and call.”

“Oh, let’s be real about it … Danny was always at my beck and call,” CJ joked, then sobered. “It’s only now that I really appreciate it.”

“For all that this has sucked tremendously, I think a lot of good came out of it,” Donna said thoughtfully. “Don’t you?”

“It depends on your definition of good, I guess.”

“Well, we’re all a little closer,” Donna said, ticking off items on her fingers. “A psychopathic stalker is off the streets. Secret Service learned it needs to be as careful with its security guards as it does with its agents and are revamping their security procedures. You and Danny are finally an item. Josh and I … well … we’re something. I still don’t know what that is but we’re something that we weren’t before. Overall, I’d call this a win.”

CJ smiled at her friend. “Donna Moss says the glass is half full. From your lips to God’s ears.” She touched Donna’s arm. “I really am sorry that you wound up in all of this.”

Donna waved off the apology. “It was kind of like being in a Hitchcock film… you know, the one where Cary Grant tries to poison Joan Fontaine.”

“’Notorious.’”

“No, it was ‘Suspicion.’”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was ‘Notorious.’” CJ looked around for Toby, found him talking to Dave Rossi, and beckoned them over. “It was ‘Notorious’ where Cary Grant poisoned his wife, right?”

“Suspicion,” Rossi replied. “He poisoned her with a glass of milk.”

Toby snorted derisively at the FBI agent. “If you knew your Hitchcock at all, you’d know he didn’t ACTUALLY poison her in ‘Suspicion’ … she only thought he did.”

“Then which one did he poison Ingrid Bergman in?” Donna asked.

“He didn’t poison her,” Danny said, walking up behind them and laying his hands on CJ’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “It was the mother-in-law who was giving her arsenic.”

“Are we talking about ‘Notorious’?” the President asked, joining the conversation. “I happen to be an expert on Hitchcock!”

“Sir, all due respect, is there anything you AREN’T an expert in?” Toby asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Actually, no, Toby, which is how I got to be the leader of the free world.”

CJ grinned at Donna as the rest of their friends—including Prentiss and Reid-- joined the group and began animatedly discussing their favorite Hitchcock films.

It was a good day to be alive in the White House.

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
